


Complicated

by ShadowRose997



Series: Complicated [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: HPFT, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, but like it's hogwarts who's surprised, clearly i have no idea what i'm doing with this whole tagging business, just a giant adventure in character development, not even slightly cursed child compliant, throw a bunch of hormonal teenagers in a boarding school and what else do you expect, with a love story thrown in there too, wow that's a lot of relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-04-21 19:02:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 48
Words: 128,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14291379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowRose997/pseuds/ShadowRose997
Summary: Clearly I underestimated the gravity of the situation.Mix one Queen Bee, James Potter, and a whole lot of drama - and things are bound to get complicated.





	1. Complication #1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bar fights, no matter how dignified, are never a good idea.

“So, ladies, how do I look?” I ask, as I step out of the dressing room.  
  
“Ohmygodric, I love it!”   
  
“Gorgeous!”   
  
“It’s perfect!”  
  
I don’t even need them to tell me this – I know that I look amazing in this dress. The white lace is fitted in all the right places, and it accents the golden tan my skin has taken on over the summer.  
  
I’m currently standing in the middle of Juliette’s, a Muggle boutique just outside of Diagon Alley with my three best friends, Scarlett, Brooke, and Caroline.  
  
“Then it’s settled,” I say simply, running a hand through my chestnut-coloured curls in front of the full-body mirror. “I’m buying it.”  
  
“Do you want me to put it behind the counter, Miss Abigail?” The salesperson, Adelaide, asks me, coming up from behind. Most of the salespeople here know me by name given how much I show here.  
  
“That would be great,” I reply, and without another word, I go back into the dressing room, peel off the dress, and pass it to the salesperson. I put on my normal clothes, a black and white dress, black peep-toe pumps, and a thick white headband, before joining the girls in the store.  
  
I don’t believe in dressing casually. If I wanted people to see me in sweatpants, I’d join a Quidditch team.  
  
“I can’t believe you found your dress for the back-to-school party on the first try!” Caroline exclaims jealously.  
  
“It’s not fair, it took me ages!” Brooke whines.  
  
“It took you five tries, Brooke. At least it didn’t take you twenty!” Scarlett adds. It’s true; it took Scarlett forever to finally settle on a dress.  
  
These girls are my best friends. We are, as the students of Hogwarts as so lovingly nicknamed us, the Ravenclaw Royals. We’re easily the most popular and prettiest girls in our year, if not the entire school. And while that may sound entirely conceited, it’s also entirely true.  
  
Scarlett Finnegan has been my best friend since we both ended up in the same Muggle primary school. She’s blonde-haired, green-eyed, and incredibly blessed in the chest area. Which isn’t something I can say for myself.

The two of us met Brooke Dawson on the Hogwarts Express as first years. The very first thing I noticed about her was her hair: a shocking auburn colour that falls past her shoulders, blunt and stick straight. Her cheeks are dusted with a light spattering of freckles, which could be disastrous on most normal people but suits her exceptionally well, paired with her pale blue eyes.  
  
Finally, Caroline Sinclair joined our group after the Sorting. To be quite honest, she reminds me a little of Snow White from Muggle fairy tales. She has black hair chopped into a sharply angled bob, shimmery grey eyes, and lips that are somehow naturally tinted red.   
  
Then there’s me: Abigail Winchester. I’m the centre of it all – the Queen Bee.  
  
We walk up to the counter, where I pull out my wallet in order to pay for the dress. “That’ll be 250 pounds, please,” Adelaide reports cheerfully, as I pull a wad of Muggle cash from my purse.  
  
I know most people would be shocked by the price, especially for a dress I plan on wearing only once, but this is entirely normal to me. I’ve grown up in a wealthy family, so spending 250 pounds on a dress is no big deal. I’ve purchased shoes more expensive.  
  
I walk out of the shop, cradling the lilac shopping bag in the crook of my elbow.  
  
“So, where to next?” Brooke asks.  
  
“Well, seeing as we all have our dresses, how about we stop at the Leaky Cauldron?” I suggest.  
  
In all actuality, the pub is somewhat disgusting, but it’s one of the only options for food and drink on Diagon Alley, and I think we’d all prefer to be among witches and wizards for a little bit.   
  
My offer is met with a chorus of agreement, so we set out towards the pub. As soon as we reach it, Scarlett immediately orders us four Gillywaters.  
  
We sit down at one of the booths near the entrance: our booth. It’s the best one to see and be seen in, so over the years, we have claimed it as our own.  
  
“Have you heard the latest?” Caroline asks, sipping her water.  
  
“You’re going to need to clarify,” I reply sharply. "There is far too much gossip about Hogwarts students to simply label it ‘the latest.’ “  
  
“Fred Weasley managed to sleep with two fifth years in one night,” she reports happily.  
  
“Ew.” Brooke wrinkles her nose in disgust. “He is such a manwhore.”  
  
“Well, it’s not like he doesn’t have the looks for it,” Scarlett adds. She intends to sound nonchalant, but I know that she definitely means it; she’s always had a little thing for him. Yeah, I guess he’s attractive, but he’s about as mature as Peeves the Poltergeist. Both him and his imbecile cousin seem to find pulling pranks extremely funny, which I don’t understand at all.  
  
“Speak of the devil,” I sneer, looking at the two boys that have just entered the pub: James Potter and Fred Weasley.  
  
Potter is the first to notice us, and he raises his eyebrows at us, showing off his hazel eyes, as he runs a hand through his extraordinarily messy hair. Honestly, I don’t think the boy has met a comb before.   
  
Next, Fred looks over, and winks, causing Scarlett to sigh loud enough for only me to hear. I guess I see how she could find him good-looking, with his caramel-coloured skin and shaggy black hair, but his personality kind of ruins it all.  
  
“What are you ladies doing here?” Potter asks, having arrived in front of our table in a matter of a few short strides.  
  
“Hmmm… I don’t know. We’re sitting in a pub with drinks, what does it look like we’re doing?” I comment snidely.  
  
Potter and I have never gotten on quite well, ever since second year when he thought it would be hilarious to drop a water balloon on my head. I’ve never been one for using spells in the halls, but I cast a Jelly Legs Jinx and Tongue Tying Curse on him so quickly, no one even realized I had pulled out my wand until after I had already put it away. I don’t appreciate being publicly humiliated.  
  
“Well, knowing you, probably plotting your next evil scheme,” he replies coolly.   
  
“I don’t plot, Potter. It’s called creating a plan and executing it to perfection,” I snarl. Plotting makes me sound like some sort of lowly scum who has nothing better to do than ruin other people’s lives. I actually have plenty of better things to do.   
  
“Oh, well excuse me for not consulting a thesaurus before I spoke,” he shoots back in the same annoyed voice that I use towards him.  
  
“You’re excused,” Caroline throws in chirpily. See, this is why these girls are my best friends.  
  
“What are you talking about, anyway?” Potter changes the subject, obviously wanting to get away from the argument he just lost.  
  
“None of your business,” I snap.  
  
“Not willing to confess that you were talking about your undying love for me, Winchester?”  
  
Okay, that does it, you conceited little prat. “No, to be honest, we were discussing your dear cousin’s promiscuity,” I simper, avoiding Brooke’s wording.  
  
I don’t curse. Ever. I think it’s horribly unladylike, and there are so many other words in the English language that can be used instead.  
  
Weasley, who had previously been watching the conversation silently, pipes in. “Oi!”  
  
“Well, it’s true,” I reply, at the exact time that Potter says the same thing. Granted, he sounds much more joking than I do, but it’s weird nonetheless. He looks over at me, surprised, and I glare back at him.  
  
“So then it’s settled,” Brooke concludes, a false smile plastered on his face. “Weasley’s a manwhore and Potter’s just a twat. What a lovely pair.”  
  
“It’s better than being a bunch of girls whose wands are stuck so far up their arses you can’t even see them anymore,” Potter comments bitterly, before dragging Fred away.  
  
That’s a low blow, Potter. You don’t mess with my girls. Underneath the table, I nonverbally cast a spell, and watch with amusement as Potter discovers that his tongue is glued to the roof of his mouth. Oh, the joys of Langlock.  
  
“Better watch your tongue, Potter,” I proclaim across the pub, sending him a bright smile that only causes his scowl to deepen before turning back to our huddle.

I’m never one to publicly curse or hex anyone – words can solve most problems, anyways – but there’s just something about Potter that makes me lose all self-control.  
  
“So,” Caroline turns the conversation back to our little group. “What are your plans for tomorrow night?”  
  
As always, the night before school starts is reserved for our current love interest. While it can vary for each of the other girls, mine has stayed the same every year. I’ve been dating Blaise Halstead since second year.  
  
“I think Blaise and I are finally going to do it,” I comment offhandedly.   
  
“What!?” All three girls are looking at me now. “When did this happen?”  
  
“Well, we've been together for years,” I reasoned, “So this is the next step, right? It’ll make the relationship more real.”  
  
A resounding “awwww” comes from around the table.  
  
“Well damn,” Caroline comments. “Now anything we say is irrelevant, because you obviously take the cake.”  
  
“Now you’re going to have to spill,” Brooke adds, leaning in closer, so that our conversation is less likely to be overheard. “What’s the plan?”  
  
“Well,” I start, knowing that I have already planned everything out. “It’ll be at my dad’s house on the beach, because he’s going on a date with Diana tomorrow night. I want it to be perfect.”  
  
After all, I’m the last of my friends to surrender my V-card, even though I’ve had the same boyfriend for the longest. If I’m going to finally do it, it better be absolutely amazing.  
  
“No fair,” Scarlett whines. “Now my surprise date with Hudson Thomas doesn’t seem all that cool now!”  
  
“I’m sure it’ll be amazing,” I reassure her, although I know she will still be dreaming about Weasley the whole time. That bloke’s permanently planted on her heart, which is really quite a misfortune.  
  
“I guess you’re right,” she sighs contentedly, taking another sip of her almost empty gillywater.  
  
Out of the corner of my eye, I see two boys exiting the pub. I know that they’re probably dreaming up some revenge scheme, and I’m not looking forward to it.

* * *

 

After we finish our drinks, we leave the pub, walking out onto Diagon Alley.  
  
Suddenly, a pair of hands covers my eyes, as a familiar masculine voice murmurs in my ear, “Guess who?”   
  
I twirl around, looking straight up at my boyfriend. “Blaise!” I squeal, before planting a kiss on his lips.  
  
“How’s my favorite girlfriend?” he asks, wrapping his arms around my waist.  
  
“I’m your only girlfriend,” I reply coyly.  
  
“That you are,” he replies, flashing his gorgeous smile at me.  
  
“You’re still coming over tomorrow night, right?” I ask.  
  
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He tucks a piece of hair behind my ear, before kissing me briefly again. “Now, I’ve got to get into Diagon Alley; I have to meet with someone from Gringott's.”  
  
With that, he kisses me on the forehead and heads for the pub. That’s my boyfriend: ever the businessman, even though we still haven't graduated Hogwarts yet.  
  
“If it weren’t for the fact that you two are so darn cute, I’d have left you a long time ago,” Caroline snaps, obviously a little impatient by my hold-up. We’re scheduled for massages at 5:00, and it’s already 4:47. Scarlett looks a little irritated at this - she hates being late.  
  
“Now come on! We have to get to an Apparition site!” Brooke whines, hurrying ahead of me.   
  
After a few moments, we find ourselves down an abandoned alley. I crinkle my nose at the horrible smell, and focus on avoiding anything questionable on the ground.  
  
“Alright, let’s go!” I snap, before focusing on the spa and feeling myself be sucked away.  
  
Instantly, I find myself standing outside of an oasis. The spa building sits in the middle, surrounded by pools and flowers on all sides.   
  
In an instant, the other three girls appear, and we all head into the waiting room. The entire thing is cream-colored, filled with fluffy couches and a blazing fireplace.  
  
“We have an appointment,” I tell the receptionist, and she quickly guides us back to the entry room, which is filled with big fluffy robes and matching slippers to wear, instead of the clothes we came in.  
  
Caroline starts fussing with the chunky necklace she has on, while Scarlett yanks her shirt over her head.   
  
“This is exactly what you need, isn’t it, Abigail?” Brooke asks, as she undoes the buttons on her blouse. “A little massage to loosen you up for tomorrow night?”  
  
She has an eyebrow raised and her mouth is set in a smirk, as Caroline and Scarlett fight off giggling. “I never should have told you girls about this,” I sigh dramatically.  
  
“Of course, you should have, silly!” Scarlett exclaims. “We’re your best friends, this is what we do!”  
  
I guess she’s right: when she slept with Jonathan Wright, who’s two years below us, none of us would let up with the cougar comments. So, I guess this is my turn.  
  
“After all, what kind of friends don’t point out that their best friend took four whole years to finally sleep with her boyfriend?” Brooke giggles.  
  
Oh, the joys of friendship.

* * *

I sit on my chaise lounge, flipping through the latest issue of  _Witch Weekly_. The magazine is shallow and little bit stupid, but I do feel the need to keep an eye on any gossip. I intentionally skip past a section titled “The Wizarding World’s Most Eligible Bachelors” – I’ve got one of my own, thank you very much – and settle for a section on beauty tips.  
  
“Miss Abigail,” a voice squeaks. I look across my room, to see Francy, my mum’s house-elf. “Would you like your evening tea?”  
  
“Yes, please,” I reply.  
  
Normally, I’d have tea with my mother, but she seems to be a little miffed with me at the moment, seeing as I’m going to see my dad tomorrow.  
  
My parents divorced when I was 14, and ever since, they’ve been battling for my attention. It’s almost as if whoever I love most “wins” the divorce.

If it’s not obvious, the marriage did not end on good terms.

Due to this competitiveness, I have a full-to-bursting closet, the latest books and other materials, and two different, extremely huge bedrooms.  
  
The first is here, at my mother’s penthouse. The room is massive and extremely sophisticated. Everything is cream-colored, with the exception of a few splashes of navy blue. A crystal chandelier hangs from the ceiling, the bathtub is big enough to swim laps in, and the king-sized bed is surrounded by a rich gauzy canopy.  
  
My second bedroom is at my father’s house, which is located on the coast in Scotland. The room there is entirely stark white, with the exception of the dark wooden floors. However, my favourite parts about that room is the view. The wall opposite my bed is covered in floor-to-ceiling windows, which look straight out onto the coast. It’s completely romantic, which is why it’s perfect for what I want to do with Blaise tomorrow night.  
  
I try to tell them that they don’t need to buy me things to earn my affection, and that I love them both equally, but it’s become too much of a game for them. Sometimes I feel like I’m just the pawn in a chess game of revenge.  
  
With a crack, Francy reappears, holding a steaming mug of tea. I thank her, and she disappears just as quickly. As soon as I down the burning hot liquid, I stand up from the chaise, stopping to look at myself in the floor-length mirror.  
  
I’m not particularly curvy. The clingy silk slip I’m wearing only serves to emphasize that. Over top, I’m wearing a thin, floor-length, lacy dressing gown, a Christmas gift from my father that cost more than the dress I bought today. As much as I love it, I can’t help but be reminded that it was bought with the sole intention of outdoing whatever Christmas present my mother had bought.  
  
I push the thought out of my mind and head for the bathroom.   
  
I quickly brush my teeth and take my makeup off, before crawling under the covers.  
  
Tomorrow’s the last day of summer, and it will go out with a  _BANG_.  
  
Literally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Welcome to my newest story! If you've just finished this first chapter, and you're thinking to yourself, "wow, this main character is really insufferable," then I've done my job correctly. All I can promise is that she's not this bad for the entirety of the story.
> 
>  
> 
> Sneak peek of chapter 2:
> 
> Excuse me, but I’m Abigail Winchester. Nobody treats me like that.
> 
> I flick my wand at the window, letting out a cry of frustration. The spell was nonverbal, and I don’t quite know what it was, but the pieces shatter loudly, clattering to the ground outside of the house.
> 
> With another flick, I fix the window, but not before a tear rolls down my cheek. 
> 
> I don’t cry. I hate crying. You get all snivelly and snotty and hiccupping and disgusting. It’s a sign of weakness. I’m not supposed to be weak. I’m supposed to be the stone wall of perfection that everyone at Hogwarts thinks I am.
> 
> But however much I hate it, I’m crying now.


	2. Complication #1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you want something to go perfectly right, it always goes perfectly wrong.

I pull the sleeping mask away from my eyes, only to be greeted by the bright summer sunlight streaming in through my window. 

I really want to just burrow myself back under the duvet, but I can’t. Especially not today. I have a lot to get done. I push myself out of the bed, sliding on a pair of slippers to protect my feet from the cold marble floor.  
  
I immediately head for the shower, turning the water as hot as it can go, letting my bathroom fill up with steam. After peeling off my nightgown, I step under the scalding water.   
  
By the time I glide out of the shower and wrap my towel around my body, the entire bathroom is filled with copious amounts of steam, and smells strongly of rose and jasmine.  
  
I grab my wand off the counter, flicking it at my hair. I feel my hair bounce off my shoulders, now completely dry. I then focus on applying my makeup, making it look absolutely perfect, down to each individual eyelash.  
  
I push open the double doors, walking across my bedroom to the second set of double doors: my closet.  
  
My closet is exactly what one would expect: positively massive. A bench in the middle currently supports my trunk, which is waiting to be packed.  
  
The entire room is glowing with golden light, focused on the various shelves and racks that fill the walls. I walk over to a rack, flipping through the various articles of clothing until I find one that appeals to me: a yellow blouse with ruffles down the front.  
  
Inspired, I find a purple and yellow floral skirt, gold strappy heels, and a long golden necklace. I dress quickly, admiring my reflection in the mirror. As usual, I look flawless.  
  
I then head to my trunk, opening the box with a click. I take my wand again, and flick the inside of the chest, renewing the Undetectable Extension Charm on it. The charm is the only way I can fit my belongings into a small trunk, since Hogwarts has this rule that we're only allowed one trunk.  
  
With a flick of my wand, a good portion of my wardrobe flies into the trunk. I’ll trade everything out when I came home for Christmas holidays, but for now, this will do.  
  
I levitate the trunk back into my bedroom, filling up the extra space with my other belongings. It's taken a good hour, but I'm now fully ready to leave for my father’s house.  
  
When I walk back into my room, an owl is tapping on the window. I slide the sill open, letting the owl drop its letter into my hand before flying away.   
  
  
  
 _Abigail,_  
  
 _Hi darling! I have some unfortunate news… it seems Hudson managed to blow up half his house, so he’ll have to miss our date. I blame my father for teaching him pyrotechnics, because nothing good will ever come out of that._  
  
 _So it seems like I’ll have to find something else to do tonight. Not to worry though, I’m sure it won’t be a problem!_  
  
 _Have fun with Blaise tonight, doll!_  
  
 _Love, Scarlett_  
  
  
  
It’s well-known that Scarlett’s father is the man who blew up the bridge the Hogwarts, so I’m not surprised that he had taught Hudson pyrotechnics.   
  
I feel a little sorry for Scarlett, who now has to re-arrange her plans for the night, but not  _too_ bad. After all, she’s Scarlett Finnegan, and all she has to do is snap her fingers and everything will fall into place.  
  
To be honest though, all four of us are like that.  
  
I throw the letter down on my desk and exit the room, making my way down the stairway, until I finally find myself in the dining room, where my mother is sitting, intensely reading a page of the  _Daily Prophet_. She’s a powerful Ministry executive, so she always keeps up with the goings-on of the Wizarding World.  
  
“Oh, you’re up,” my mother says, not even bothering to look up at me.  
  
I don’t reply, but instead sit down at the table.  
  
My family dynamic has always been an uncomfortable one, especially after my parent’s divorce. They have some sort of twisted competition with one another, in which they think that I'll love the parent that buys me the most expensive things.  
  
Sometimes I think I’d give up the Egyptian silk for some genuine interest in my life.  
  
Although the silk is pretty nice too, I must admit.  
  
“You’re still going to your father’s today, aren’t you?” Her voice is laced with disinterest, but I know she still cares about the reply.  
  
She wants me to say no, and stay back at the house with her. Any trip to my father’s is seen as a sign that I prefer him to her.  
  
Never mind that I spent almost the entire summer here in London, this one night is a sign of my preference of parents. At least in her mind, it is.  
  
“Yes, I wanted to spend some time on the shore before I have to go back to Hogwarts,” I explain. It’s better than telling her the real reason, but she does want to hear that I’m not going just to see my father.  
  
“It’s supposed to be cloudy today; you won’t even get that much sun,” she reasons, adjusting her brown reading glasses on her nose.  
  
“I’m sure it will be enjoyable nonetheless,” I say, pouring myself a cup of coffee to avoid the inevitable disapproving look she’s probably trying to give me.  
  
“Well, then I guess I’ll see you at the platform then,” she replies, her voice taking on a haughty, I-could-care-less tone.  
  
We spend the rest of our meal in silence, since my mother is clearly still unhappy with my decision.  
  
Every year, both of my parents accompany me to Platform 9¾. Needless to say, it’s a rather uncomfortable experience every time. Neither of the two can stand each other, so I end up saying two separate goodbyes to two people that station themselves on opposite sides of the platform.   
  
Sometimes I honestly wonder how the two of them could ever have been married, if they dislike each other so much now.  
  
Love doesn’t turn into hate, and hate doesn’t turn into love. It’s not the way things work.  
   
  


* * *

 

An hour later, I finally Apparate over to my father’s house. I levitate my trunk by my side, and walk up the long drive until I finally reach the glass doors that signify the front of the house. I ring the bell, and wait for my father to answer the door.  
  
As usual, he’s nowhere to be found. However, his live-in girlfriend apparently is.  
  
“Abigail!” she screeches, as she slides the door open and comes over to hug me. As she crushes me, I stand there, unmoving, until she lets go.  
  
“How are you, darling?” she asks, finally releasing me from her death grip.  
  
Diana Hilden is actually a very pretty woman, so I see why my father likes her. She has dark auburn hair and golden eyes that compliment her tanned skin. Not unlike my mother, she is constantly dressed to the nines.  
  
She is, however, a little too peppy for my liking.  
  
“Great, thanks,” I tell her. A house elf appears with a loud crack.  
  
“Can Belinda take that bag for you, Miss?” the elf asks, gesturing to my trunk.  
  
“Yes, you can,” I reply, before turning back to Diana.  
  
“Well, make yourself at home, darling,” she says, flashing me a huge smile. “Robert and I will be leaving at around 5. Oh, and there’s a gift from us sitting on your bed.”  
  
“I’m heading out in a little bit, actually,” I tell her. I do have things to accomplish today, before Blaise comes over at 6.  
  
“Alright then, dearie. There’s a new boutique in town that you might want to check out when you go,” she replies, before leaving the foyer.   
  
After quite a few flights of stairs, I arrive in my room, which is exactly how I left it, with the exception of the pale blue box sitting on my bed.  
  
The color is instantly recognizable: Tiffany blue.  
  
I gently pull the white ribbons, and the bow unravels in my hand. I remove the lid, marveling at the object inside.  
  
The platinum bracelet is delicate, with diamonds spaced evenly. Right in the middle is my initials: AAW. I smile at how well my father understands my taste, and clasp the bracelet around my wrist. A perfect fit.   
  
I love it. But it doesn't make up for the fact that I haven't seen him all summer and he's at work the one day that I visit.  
  
I’m horribly sick of feeling this regret every time I’m reminded of my parent’s buying battle. I hate feeling. I’m not supposed to have feelings.  
  
I moodily stomp out of my bedroom, the sound of my stilettos amplified along the hallways. On my way out of the house, I grab a set of car keys.  
  
My father has always had a slight fascination with Muggle objects, which explains my sixteenth birthday present from him: a white Mercedes.  
  
I slide into the leather seat, instantly feeling at home in the rich interior. I quickly pull out of the driveway, before pressing the gas pedal as hard as I can. The manor is located in a remote place, so I can drive as fast as I want to without dealing with any other vehicles on the road.  
  
Technically, I don’t have a license to drive, but I don’t care. The likelihood that I’ll get pulled over is about the same as the likelihood that I’ll develop a genuine interest in Quidditch.   
  
Which is about one in negative one-hundred.  
  
Plus, even if I do, I have enough Muggle cash, and some serious eyelash-batting skills, to easily sway an officer to do whatever I want.  
   
  


* * *

  
  
Every candle is lit, the lights are turned off, and I’m dressed. Although I don’t really know if a black lace bra and matching knickers is considered “dressed.” I’m sitting on the bed, waiting for Blaise to come up. The door is unlocked, and a trail of rose petals leads up to the bed, so he shouldn’t have any problem finding me.  
  
It’s 6:00 on the nose, but Blaise is nowhere to be found. This is kind of odd for him, considering he is always on time.  
  
I sit on the bed, awaiting his arrival. I’ve slowly been taking sips from the glass of elf-made wine I have set out on the bedside table.  
  
6:05.   
  
Where is he?  
  
I wonder what’s keeping him. Could he have gone to the wrong place? I sent him an explicit owl that said to meet me at my dad’s house at 6. And he replied, confirming it, so he should be here now.  
  
6:10.  
  
Could he be planning a surprise for me? I don’t know why that would make him late, though.  
  
He also knows I hate surprises. Things jumping out at me? No thank you. I like when things are perfectly planned out, and I’m fully aware of them ahead of time.  
  
6:20.  
  
Why isn’t he here yet?  
  
I don’t understand. I did everything right.  
  
6:30.  
  
I’m pacing the room now. He should be here. Why isn’t he here? Could he have gotten lost?  
  
That’s ludicrous. He’s been here thousands of times before.  
  
6:40.  
  
What if he’s badly injured? What if his ties all caught on fire?  
  
6:43.  
  
Finally, I see some movement. An owl.  
  
The big thing swoops into the room, dropping a letter in front of me. I had left the window open, because the sound of the waves lapping against the shore was utterly romantic.  
  
I light the tip of my wand, before opening the envelope. I scan the letter.  
  
   
  
 _Abigail,_  
  
 _I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I can’t make it tonight. Family stuff came up._  
  
 _Blaise_  
  
  
  
All he could be bothered with was two sentences? And forty-three minutes later than when we were supposed to meet?   
  
Excuse me, but I’m Abigail Winchester. Nobody treats me like that.  
  
I flick my wand at the window, letting out a cry of frustration. The spell was nonverbal, and I don’t quite know what it was, but the pieces shatter loudly, clattering to the ground outside of the house.  
  
With another flick, I fix the window, but not before a tear rolls down my cheek.   
  
I don’t cry. I hate crying. You get all snivelly and snotty and hiccupping and disgusting. It’s a sign of weakness. I’m not supposed to be weak. I’m supposed to be the stone wall of perfection that everyone at Hogwarts thinks I am.  
  
But however much I hate it, I’m crying now.  
  
Tonight was supposed to be perfect, beautiful, amazing. Instead, it’s horrible, heartbreaking,  _lonely_.  
  
My shoulders shake from the sobs that are taking over my body, and all I want is for someone to come wrap their arms around me, to comfort me, to rub circles in my back and tell me that it’ll all be okay.   
  
But they can’t. Because I’m completely and utterly alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I promise that the action is picking up soon! Just had to get a ton of background information out there. Until then, I’d love it if you could drop off a little review in the grey box below. :)
> 
>  
> 
> Sneak peek of chapter 3:
> 
> “But I’m not the important part,” she says, a smile growing on her lips. “I know we all care more about Abigail’s night than anyone else’s.”
> 
> In life, you often end up at a crossroads, in which one direction points the “noble” way, and the other one points the “satisfying” way. These are the choices that really define who you are as a person and say a lot about what you really value. 
> 
> Forget what’s “right.” I value saving face much more than any sort of morality.


	3. Complication #3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you want to weave a web of lies, be careful not to get caught in your own trap.

I survey myself in the mirror, pouting my glossy berry-red lips at my reflection. It took a little more effort than usual, but I look great; there’s no bloodshot eyes or sunken skin as evidence to the fact that I cried myself to sleep last night.  
  
Today is a new day.  
  
I flip my hair over my shoulder and leave the bathroom behind, knowing I need to get to King’s Cross soon anyway.  
  
“Abigail! We need to get going!”   
  
Alas, the rare father-figure finally makes his appearance. You’d think, considering I spent the majority of the summer at my mother’s house, he’d be a bit more chuffed to see me, but that is obviously not the case.  
  
“I’m coming!” I reply sharply, grabbing my wand off my bed and enchanting my trunk to float behind me.  
  
I make my way down the stairs, to see both my father and Diana standing there, dressed smartly. Circe, if Diana’s coming, I really need to do everything I can to keep the two away from each other. A confrontation between the two is the last thing I need at the start of my seventh year.  
  
Considering the horrible ending to my summer, the rest of seventh year had better make up for it.  
   
  


* * *

  
  
  
The station is packed with countless students and their respective parents. I look around, surveying my classmates.  
  
Some are crying, either out of happiness to be reunited with their friends or out of sadness to be leaving behind their parents. Some are screaming like banshees, attacking each other in embraces and squealing about their summers. Others are just looking around awkwardly, having found no one to sob or shriek about.  
  
Honestly, the students of Hogwarts are like wild animals.  
  
At the center of the pack are four boys – the GryfFITdors, as they’ve been christened by the school – honestly, whoever came up with that name needs to be smacked over the head with  _The Monster Book of Monsters_  repeatedly. I hope it bites their head off in the process.   
  
The “Fits” consist of Alistair Avery, Simon Crosby, Weasley, and their ringleader, Potter. The four are creating all sorts of raucous on the platform, surrounded by their own little audience. I’m yet to see what’s so interesting about these boys, because, yes, they’re quite good-looking, but their combined maturity totals that of an eight-year-old.  
  
I see Brooke walk by, and she flashes me a brief smile before mouthing that she’s going to reserve our compartment. She’s already severed her ties with her parents, so she doesn’t really have anyone to say goodbye to at the station. Not that she minds, of course.  
  
I scan the crowds again, and my eyes find my mother, who’s expertly navigating through the throngs of people, coming directly towards us.  
  
Oh no. That’s not happening. I rush forward, pushing myself into the crowd until I end up in front of my mother.  
  
“Hi, mum!” I say with forced cheerfulness. “I’m so happy you came!”  
  
I’m not sure if I mean that or not, to be honest. Especially as she narrows her eyes, and replies, “Thanks, but I’d like to go see your father briefly while we say our goodbyes.”  
  
I start to panic, and a string of rather un-ladylike words runs through my head as I try to correct the problem.  
  
“You don’t really want to do that, do you?” I question, attempting to block her path. “I mean, there’s many other times you could talk to him, when we aren’t surrounded by all of my classmates, and – “  
  
“I’d like to speak to him now, if you don’t mind,” she interrupts tersely, going around me.  
  
By the time I’ve spun around and chased after my darling mother, she’s already come up to my father and Diana, and is eying Diana warily.  
  
“Is this your newest escort, Robert?” she asks, with a tone of superiority to her voice. My eyes widen in shock from my mother’s insinuation, as do Diana’s.  
  
Unlike mine, however, Diana’s quickly become slits. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her angry, but at this moment, I’m quite glad about it. “What the hell did you just call me?”  
  
My mother purses her lips haughtily. “You heard me.”  
  
I fight the urge to go running in the other direction as fast as my gold wedges can carry me, and instead look to my father for help. He, however, looks just as livid as Diana.  
  
“You have no right to speak to my fiancée like that,” my father seethes.  
  
It takes me a moment to process my father’s words. As they register, I instantaneously look at Diana’s left hand, which is perched on her hip. Sure enough, there’s a massive diamond adorning her ring finger. Well, at least someone had a better night than I did.  
  
“Oh, she’s my replacement?” my mother replies, successfully keeping the surprise in her eyes out of her voice. “I thought the whole point of a divorce was to  _upgrade_ , not  _downgrade_.”  
  
I see the vein in my father’s neck bulge, and I know that something major is about to happen – and I don’t want to be anywhere near it when it happens.  
  
I can’t handle this – my parents have fought since before I can remember, but never this publicly.  
  
So I turn on my heel and storm away from the three of them as fast as I possibly can. I climb onto the Express as quickly as I can, but instead of turning in the direction that will take me to our compartment, I turn the opposite direction, fully intending to hide out in the loo while I calm back down.  
  
I’m moving too fast to notice what’s in front of me, and before I know it, I’ve slammed into something solid. The force of the collision sends me flying backwards, and I grab onto a compartment door to prevent myself from falling on my bum.  
  
“Watch it, Winchester!”  
  
I look up to see the last person I want to deal with right now.  
  
“I thought you ‘Royals’ were supposed to be graceful,” he says, smirking.  
  
I straighten myself up and try to push past him. “I’m not in the mood right now, Potter.”  
  
“What?” he asks, faking shock. “No witty comeback?”  
  
“Go away, Potter,” I reply, still trying to squeeze past him in the small corridor.  
  
“Winchester, what happened to you?” he questions, acting for the briefest moment like he cares about what’s going on in my life.  
  
“My wellbeing is nothing of your concern, Potter,” I state. “Now go rejoin your pack of lions and let me be.” With that, I finally navigate around him and find the loo.  
  
I lock myself in the small room and clutch the edges of the sink like they’re my only life support. I always though that, over the years, my parents’ bitter rivalry would fade away, and they’d just dislike each other from a distance.  
  
As was shown by today’s episode, their hatred for one another has only magnified over the years.  
  
I rake my hand through my hair, not really caring that the stick-straight locks are no doubt sticking out at odd angles now. I bite my lip, convincing myself that I’m not going to cry. Once in the past 24 hours is already too much.  
  
While I’m happy for my father and Diana, I can’t help but feel a little regret too, because his remarriage is the final step, the one that seals the deal that there is no hope for my parents to ever get back together.  
  
I tell myself constantly that my parents will never get back together, and to hope for such a thing is a foolish and stupid waste of time, but I can’t help but feel that little touch of happiness when I think of what it would be like to have a real family again. One that isn’t dysfunctional beyond all normal capacity and believes monetary investments equivalent to actual affection.  
  
I pull my thoughts away from that, and instead focus on this upcoming year, taking deep calming breaths as I do so. I’ll pass my N.E.W.T.s with flying colours, Blaise and I will finally have that romantic night, and the Royals and I will continue to dominate the school. I couldn’t ask for anything better.  
  
Once I’m sure that I’ve pulled myself together, I face my reflection in the mirror, fixing my hair and pinching my cheeks to help return some of the colour that has drained out of my face.  
  
I leave the loo and make my way to our usual carriage: it’s the fourth one on the right, and it’s been ours since second year – and everyone knows to stay away from it.  
  
It’s a great thing, to be feared by the school. While the students of Hogwarts respect us, they’re not stupid enough to cross us. We have more power than even some of teachers, and can really make a person’s life become torture. I can’t say that we haven’t done that before, actually, because it’s actually happened on quite a few occasions. Thus, no one wants to make us angry.  
  
I find the carriage, and slide the glass door open, revealing two out of three of my friends sitting in the compartment.   
  
“Where’s Caroline?” I ask, confused by the fact that the train leaves in five minutes and I still haven’t seen her yet.  
  
“She’s still saying ‘goodbye’ to her mum,” Scarlett answers, pointing out the window, where I can see Caroline talking to her mother.  
  
Caroline has always been extremely close with her mum and her little sister, Holly. Their father left them right before Holly was born, and it’s made Caroline fiercely protective of her family.  
  
It also explains why she really dislikes Muggles – her father was one, and when he discovered that she and her mum were magical after Caroline showed her first signs of magical ability, he ran for the hills, leaving behind a ten-year-old daughter and a very pregnant ex-wife.  
  
I know I should be grateful that at least I’m in contact with both of my parents, but I can’t help but feel a little envy for the close bond Caroline has with her mother and sister.  
  
At the last second, she hugs her mother and hurries towards the train, which looks fit to take off at any moment now.  
  
Right as the train lurches forward, Caroline slides the door open and sits down across from me, not looking at all like she had to scurry as fast as she could to get on the Express. After all, that’s what the four of us are know for – looking gorgeous despite anything else that might be going on around us.  
  
“So,” Brooke begins conversationally, “how did your nights go?”  
  
Scarlett shrugs noncommittally. “I ended up staying home last night, you know, catching up on beauty sleep, and the like.”  
  
I watch as both Caroline and Brooke frown sympathetically, and I try to twist my face into a likewise expression, even though I’m secretly reveling in the fact that I wasn’t the only one without a date last night. I feel bad for her, obviously, but misery loves company.  
  
“But I’m not the important part,” she says, a smile growing on her lips. “I know we all care more about Abigail’s night than anyone else’s.”  
  
In life, you often end up at a crossroads, in which one direction points the “noble” way, and the other one points the “satisfying” way. These are the choices that really define who you are as a person and say a lot about what you really value.   
  
Forget what’s “right.” I value saving face much more than any sort of morality.  
  
So I plaster a smile on my face and say, “It was absolutely amazing – hands down the best night of my life.”  
  
Scarlett claps her hands together giddily. “I’m so happy for you!” she squeals. “You two are the most perfect couple ever!”  
  
The fake smile becomes genuine as I join in on my friends’ excitement. I begin to tell myself that I really did sleep with Blaise last night – after all, if you believe your own story, it automatically becomes more realistic, right?  
  
I listen as Caroline talks about the boy from the Slytherin Quidditch Team that she went dancing with last night. Apparently, the two of them were the only people under 30 there, and she was hit on by a married 30-something while her date was standing right next to her. She’s decided that even though it was a fun night, she doesn’t really want to date the boy. But that’s always how Caroline has been – she’s pretty distrustful of men in general thanks to her idiot of a father.  
  
Brooke apparently went out on a boat with her date, a Muggle boy who she met while wandering in downtown London. He apparently goes to a very posh boarding school, and their night was spent toasting champagne and watching the fireworks that people were setting off on shore.  
  
The compartment door slides open, and a familiar brown-haired boy peeks in. “Abigail?” he asks tentatively. “Can I speak to you outside?”  
  
“I’d love to,” I reply, laughing as my friends all shoot me meaningful looks.  
  
I step outside of the compartment, coming face-to-face with Blaise.  
  
“Look, I’m sorry about last night,” he starts. “I just got caught up in – “  
  
I cut him off mid-sentence with a deep kiss. He responds briefly before pulling away. “So you’re not mad?”  
  
“Of course not,” I reply seductively, tracing my finger down his shoulder.  
  
That’s a horrible lie. I’m still furious that he abandoned me, but I’m not going to show it – especially not when I know my friends are probably trying to see what’s going on.  
  
Plus, I have to let go of this if I’m going to move on and enjoy my last year, so I fully plan on forgetting what really happened last night, and substituting it with my own fabricated story.  
  
“Well, that’s good,” he states, before kissing me again.  
  
When we finally pull apart, he says, “I’m going to make it up to you, okay?”  
  
I smile up at him, my buried anger dissipating. “Okay,” I reply softly.  
  
With that, he turns down the aisle and starts heading back to his compartment, while I go back into mine.  
  
I settle back into my seat, feeling very satisfied. Caroline, Brooke, and Scarlett all laugh at my dreamy expression, obviously not having heard a word of our conversation, or, at least, not enough to understand it. They’ve fully bought my story, and everything has been resolved.  
  
This school year is starting off better than expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneak peek of chapter 4...
> 
> As I walk down the hallway, I look for Potter. My wand’s itching to go at his throat, but I have a little more class than that.
> 
> I spot him among the crowds, and, feeling oddly predatory, I wait until he’s walking alone before I walk over to him and push him against the wall with my right hand.
> 
> Unprepared for the impact, Potter does little to fight me off, and instead just stares at me, shellshocked. My left hand is clenched around my wand, which is now pointed at his throat.
> 
> Well, maybe I don’t have that much class.


	4. Complication #4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even the most innocent of situations can make people talk.

I’d had a feeling Potter and Weasley would get revenge for what happened at the Leaky Cauldron – I hadn’t, however, expected it to happen so soon.

McGonagall has just finished her annual spiel about why going into the Forbidden Forest is a ridiculous idea and other things like that, and the food has only just appeared on the table, when I notice something odd happening to the ends of Scarlett’s hair.  
  
They’re turning red.  
  
And not like Brooke’s auburn colour or that bright ginger that half the Weasley kids have – no, this is a bright and true red.  
  
It’s not just Scarlett’s hair either; Brooke’s is turning green and Caroline’s is going blue.  
  
I’m too shocked to say anything at first, but as a gradual commotion sweeps across the Great Hall, I finally stutter, “You-your hair.”  
  
Caroline cocks her head, confused. “What are you talking about?”  
  
Before I have the chance to explain, some scrawny Hufflepuff kid with a squeaky prepubescent voice stands up and shouts, “Oh my Godric, look at the Royals! Look at their hair!”  
  
In an instant, the Great Hall picks up into a flurry of craziness, as everyone tries to see our new crayon-coloured hair.   
  
As Scarlett, Brooke, and Caroline all react, I look at my own hair to see what colour I’ve been cursed with.  
  
But it’s brown. Rather than having turned some flashy colour like it has for the other Royals, my hair is the exact same chestnut colour it’s always been.  
  
What on earth?  
  
“What in the name of Merlin am I supposed to do about this?” Scarlett moans, studying the red hair that aptly fits her name. I almost want to giggle to myself at the humourous connection I’ve made in my own head, but I don’t dare, given the climate of the situation.  
  
I don’t even know how to react – why haven’t I been pranked as well? Did Potter make a mistake with his spellwork? Surely I’d be the first he’d target, given his well-known hatred of me. I sit there dumbfounded, watching as the rest of the Royals stroke their hair concernedly.  
  
Brooke’s the first to notice. “Wait, Abigail, how come your hair hasn’t changed at all?”  
  
I begin to say something along the lines of “I have no idea,” but I’m interrupted by the loud cry of “QUIET!”  
  
The Hall lapses into silence as everyone turns to look at McGonagall, who has stood up from her place at the teachers’ table. She’s never been one to get visibly angry, but the look on her face is enough to send even the bravest Gryffindor running away in fear.  
  
She doesn’t even need to ask who’s responsible – Potter and Weasley have all but fallen out of their seat from laughing so hard. Dolts.  
  
“James Potter and Frederick Weasley, detention!” McGonagall says sternly. “And 20 points from Gryffindor – congratulations for starting your House out in the negative numbers.”  
  
The two boys stop laughing, but they’re still grinning to each other like idiots.  
  
I feel a smirk creep onto my face – at least they got caught for their absurd behaviour, even if they don’t feel guilty about it. McGonagall flicks her wand in our direction, and suddenly Scarlett, Brooke, and Caroline have their natural hair colours again.  
  
“Now please,” our Headmistress announces, “let’s try to make it through the first few hours of being here without causing any more ridiculous antics. I hardly think Gryffindor House can start off any lower, those poor hourglasses must be so confused.”  
  
A snicker goes across the Great Hall, and everyone turns back to the piles of food on the tables that had been neglected in all of the drama.  
  
I lightly stab my fork into the steak and kidney pie on my plate, but I’ve all but lost my appetite. Why would Potter and Weasley go with such a lackluster, juvenile prank, and why would they exclude me?  
   
  


* * *

  
  
After dinner finishes, Scarlett, Brooke, Caroline, and I are the first out the door. I almost want to stay and watch Dominique Weasley and her little brother, whatever his name is, wrangle with the first years in the attempt to get them all to Ravenclaw Tower… that’s always a sight to be seen. I thank Merlin that I’m not a Prefect – the job looks horrible.  
  
Upon arriving to the seventh year girls’ dorm, I make short work of changing out of the uncomfortable Hogwarts uniform and into a silky slip and my dressing robe. Quickly, the girls all find themselves sitting on my bed; it’s a little small for four seventeen-year-olds, but our weekly Girl Talk sessions have taken place on my bed since first year.  
  
There’s a bit of silence, until finally Brooke speaks. “So, what the hell was with the Fits’ prank? Wasn’t that a little lame by their standards? I mean, Weasley’s dad owns a whole joke shop.”  
  
I leant back onto my headboard – I didn’t really want to contribute to this conversation lest my exclusion from the prank be brought up. I had no idea how to react to that, much less try to explain anything to anyone else.  
  
Scarlett shrugged. “I don’t know – I mean, I figured they’d try to get back at us for having the last word at the pub and all, but I was expecting something a little more… significant?”  
  
“Maybe it’s a way to lull us into a false sense of security?” Caroline adds. “I mean, dye our hair weird colours and make us think that’s it, and then come back with something big when we’re not expecting it?”  
  
“I guess,” Scarlett replies. “Speaking of things we’re not expecting, why didn’t Potter go after you, Abigail? I mean, no offense, but out of all of us, you’re the one he hates the most.”  
  
My thoughts drift back to the train ride – he didn’t seem to hate me quite so much then. Of course, I’d also been in an overemotional delusion, so that might have messed with my perception a bit. I shake my head quickly, as if the physical motion will actually erase the thoughts from my mind.  
  
“I honestly don’t know,” I say, tucking my hair behind my ear. “I mean, I’m the one who  _Langlock_ -ed him at the pub, so I should’ve been the one he went after, really.”  
  
The door to the dormitory opens, and in walks Dominique, platinum blonde ponytail awry on top of her head and bearing an expression of someone who’s just gone through an exhausting ordeal.  
  
Brooke quickly shuts the curtains, casting a Silencing charm on the surrounding area.  
  
I don’t hate Dominique, but she’s definitely not Royals material either. Despite being one-eighth Veela and perfectly capable of looking gorgeous, she chooses to spend her time playing Quidditch and doing Prefect duties. Her wardrobe consists of little more than jeans, hoodies, and Quidditch T-shirts. Oh, and we can’t forget that she’s related to both Potter and Weasley.  
  
It’s a shame, really. She’d make a perfect fifth member.  
   
  


* * *

  
  
Girl Talk continues uneventfully, and eventually the girls leave my bed in order to go to their own – we do have classes tomorrow, after all.  
  
I’m flipping through a battered copy of  _The Scarlet Letter_ when I hear the sound of something tapping on glass. I push myself off the bed and over to the window, where I see a brown owl waiting expectantly.  
  
I open the window, letting in the bird, who drops a letter on the ledge and flies back out the window without so much as a  _hoot_.  
  
The envelope is addressed to me, and I recognise the familiar handwriting almost instantly.  
  
I was hoping to have at least until breakfast tomorrow to deal with this. I roll my eyes and open the letter, examining its contents by wandlight.

  
  
_Hello Abigail dearest,_   
  
_I want to apologise for your father’s awful behaviour at the platform today. Can you believe his nerve? He has absolutely no class at all, bringing that floozy around with him. See, darling, this is why I don’t like you spending time there; he’s such a horrible influence. We can’t have you picking up his traits, now can we?_   
  
_I hope you have a lovely year._   
  
_Love, Mum_

  
  
I seethe to myself – of course my mother thinks it fitting to blame the whole scene on my father. If I remember correctly, she played quite a role in the situation herself. But that’s just how my parents work; they’re never to blame, and it’s always the other person’s fault.  
  
Frustrated, I crumple up the paper and throw it across the room into the wastebasket. There’s a distinct sense of satisfaction as I watch it fall into the bin, softly  _thunk_ ing as it lands at the bottom.  
  
“That’s surprisingly good aim for someone who claims to hate sports with a burning passion.”  
  
The voice makes me jump, and I wheel around to see a smirking Dominique, sitting on her bed with a book in her lap.  
  
“Yeah, well, I guess I just come by it naturally,” I reply, before crawling into my bed and shutting the curtains.  
  
I don’t dare mention that I get the practice every time I get one of these letters.  
   
  


* * *

  
  
By the time I get down to breakfast in the morning, I’ve already been approached by three different groups of people, all wanting to know if I’m suddenly in leagues with Potter and Weasley.  
  
I wouldn’t ever be in leagues with those two – unless maybe hell froze over.  
  
Maybe not even then.  
  
I’ve hardly sat down at the table next to Caroline when someone taps on my shoulder.  
  
I whip my head around, only to be faced with Madeleine Finch-Fletchley, a Ravenclaw fifth year with a horrible habit of twirling her hair around her finger at all times.  
  
“Can I help you?” I ask sharply, adjusting my Ravenclaw-coloured headband. It’s not technically part of the uniform, but it’s my special touch – I’ve got to make robes look good  _somehow_.   
  
“Well,” she replies, reaching for the ends of her hair, “um, Amy wanted me to ask you if you’re, you know,  _friends_  with the Fits now.”  
  
Make that four.  
  
“Next time, tell Amy she can ask me herself,” I snap, glaring briefly at the brunette girl who’s watching the conversation intently from down the table.   
  
I start speaking again before Madeleine has a chance to reply. “But for your information, I’ll be friends with those halfwits about the same time I start flying around on a broom.” I pause for emphasis. “Rough translation: never.”  
  
Madeleine’s face is significantly paler and her hair is twirled so tightly around her finger that I fear she’ll pull it out of her head. She only nods before scurrying down the table to where Amy is sitting.  
  
Potter may call me a bitch, and I may deserve the title, but you can’t deny that I’m pretty good at it.  
  
I turn back to the girls, groaning. “Why on earth has everyone and their mother suddenly decided I’m plotting with Potter and his band of morons?”  
  
Brooke shrugs. Real helpful, darling.  
  
“I don’t know, but I can’t imagine Blaise would be altogether pleased with your new friend,” Scarlett replies, smiling devilishly.   
  
I pull my wand out, pointing it at her. “Now, do you really want to become a redhead again?” I try to keep a serious face, but I end up smirking by the end of my sentence.  
  
Scarlett makes a face. “Eugh, no!”  
  
“Oi,” Brooke says, entering the conversation. “What do you have against redheads?”  
  
“Nothing at all,” Scarlett shoots back, grinning again. “They’re just so… ginger!”  
  
“As long as you don’t start calling me soulless…” Brooke replies, trying – and failing – to hide her laughter.  
  
“Nah,” Caroline pipes in, “that title’s reserved for Weasley.”  
  
Before I know it, we’re all laughing like crazy, and I almost forget why I was in such a sour mood in the first place.  
   
  


* * *

  
  
I’m quickly reminded of the reason, however; before I’ve left my first class of the day, I’ve been asked by groups five, six, and seven.  
  
I’ve finally realised – this was Potter’s prank all along: to make people think we’re “friends” or something of the sort, because he knows being friends with him would be the worst kind of punishment.  
  
Stupid git. He’s smarter than he looks.  
  
As I walk down the hallway, I look for Potter. My wand’s itching to go at his throat, but I have a little more class than that.  
  
I spot him among the crowds, and, feeling oddly predatory, I wait until he’s walking alone before I walk over to him and push him against the wall with my right hand.  
  
Unprepared for the impact, Potter does little to fight me off, and instead just stares at me, shellshocked. My left hand is clenched around my wand, which is now pointed at his throat.  
  
Well, maybe I don’t have  _that_  much class.  
  
But who could, really? This is Potter we’re talking about.  
  
“What in the name of Merlin was that for, Winchester?”  
  
“You bloody well know what it was for, Potter,” I hiss. “Although I have to say, I commend you for your creativity.”  
  
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Potter replies, pushing my hand off his chest and stepping away from the wall. Took him long enough – given our size different he probably could have gotten off the wall after a few seconds.  
  
I’m all but spitting fire at this point. “Thanks to your stupid prank, I’ve been asked about our supposed newfound ‘friendship’ no less than seven times this morning.”   
  
“What, because I didn’t dye your hair too? I just figured you’d had enough going on for one day, what with your little freak-out on the train.” He shrugs, and I can’t help but notice that there’s no mischievous glint in his eye to hint he’s lying. “You know, if McGonagall had waited just a few more minutes, that spell would have been lasted for two months, minimum. You should feel lucky.”   
  
“I was  _not_  freaking out, Potter. I just didn’t want to deal with your antics – not too hard to believe given how obnoxious you are,” I shoot back, stepping closer to him. “And as a Gryffindor, you should know that going after my friends is the worst thing you can do. I don’t care if you turn my hair bright orange, but when you target my friends instead, you better watch your back.”  
  
With that, I storm off, leaving Potter standing in the middle of the corridor, looking dumbfounded.  
  
And with a mess of pink hair on top of his head.  
  
I may have gotten carried away.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
As I sit down in Charms next to Scarlett, all three girls turn to face me.   
  
“Why are we hearing that you were having an intimate conversation in the Transfiguration corridor with Potter?” Brooke asks, giving me a look.  
  
“Honestly?” I groan, running my hands through my hair and ruining the perfect placement of my headband. “I was angry. I may have pushed him against a wall and snapped at him. The conversation was in no way ‘intimate’ and definitely doesn’t mean whatever everyone thinks it means.”  
  
“Well, you might want to explain that to the entire seventh year class,” Scarlett replies, “because half of them are convinced you have a blossoming romance with him.”  
  
“I have a boyfriend! Why on earth would I give up Blaise for the likes of  _Potter_?”  
  
As if on cue, in walks the infamous Potter himself, still sporting a neon pink head of hair.  
  
“Ohmygodric, did you do that?” Caroline whispers, giggling softly.  
  
“Maybe,” I reply, but the smirk on my face reveals my undeniable guilt. My spellwork may not last two months, but Merlin, that was fun.  
  
“Mr. Potter!” Professor Flitwick cries. “What has happened to your hair?”  
  
Potter shrugs, taking a seat at his desk and leaning back in his chair. “I dunno, I felt like a change. I thought it suited me well.”  
  
Then he winks at me.  
  
The bastard has the nerve to  _wink_  at me.  
  
My cheeks heat up with anger, and I turn towards the chalkboard, fuming.  
  
Yes, it’s official. Potter is going down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneak peek of chapter 5:
> 
> I tip the glass back, letting the burning liquid fall into my mouth and slide down my throat. I can’t help but shudder at the unexpected strength of the alcohol.
> 
> “Can’t handle your liquor?” a voice asks, and I whip my head around to see Potter leaning against a nearby windowsill.
> 
> Prat. And I still haven’t figured out my revenge yet.
> 
> “I can handle it perfectly fine,” I snap back. For emphasis, I grab another shot and pour it down again, this time managing to contain the shudder. The liquid feels like it’s moving through my veins, warming me up from head to toe. It’s almost – dare I say it – pleasant.


	5. Complication #5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sobriety is a necessity when it comes to making good decisions.

We all skip our last class on Friday – party preparation takes priority, after all.  
  
The afternoon consists of makeshift spa treatments, attempts to follow  _Witch Weekly_ ’s ridiculously complicated make-up and hair tutorials, and lots of loud noise and laughter. It’s probably good that Dominique doesn’t come back to the dormitory after classes, because she’d probably get frustrated by our antics.  
  
But hey, what’s party if you can’t have fun getting pretty?  
  
When we’re all dressed and ready, I have to admit that we all look pretty amazing.  
  
Brooke is wearing a sparkling champagne dress that shows a nearly scandalous amount of leg and has made her normally stick-straight hair flow in loose waves. Her dark eye makeup makes her blue eyes stand out even more.  
  
Scarlett, on the other hand, is wearing a dark green one-shouldered dress, paired with black and gold heels and a necklace to match. Her blonde hair is pulled into a low side bun, and the gold powder she used on her face means she’s practically glowing.  
  
Caroline’s dressed in a blue high-low number that makes her legs look miles long. Her short black hair is perfectly smoothed as ever, and her make-up is simple – her sharp cheekbones make up for that, however.  
  
I’m wearing the same white dress I bought at Juliette’s, along with red heels. I’ve curled my hair and pinned it up, and paired that with some bright red lipstick. I like to think that I look very classy.  
  
“Come on girls, let’s go!” Brooke says, clasping her hands together impatiently. We’re already a few minutes late, but there’s a clear difference between fashionably late and  _late_ late.  
  
“I’m coming!” Scarlett and I sigh in sync, both in the process of spraying perfume.  
  
We start heading out the door, but Caroline is still standing over by her nightstand, fiddling nervously with something.  
  
“Are you coming, Caroline?” Scarlett asks, stopped in the doorway.  
  
“Yeah,” she sighs, “but you guys can go on without me. I’ll be there in just a few minutes – I need to do something first.”  
  
“Okay then,” Scarlett shrugs, and we all head out of the room.  
  
We start down the stars, but I can’t help but feel a sinking feeling in my stomach regarding Caroline. Something seems off with her; throughout this week, she hasn’t really been herself, and now she’s letting us leave without her, when we never arrive at a party separate.  
  
“I just realized that I left something in the dorm,” I lie, stopping in the middle of the staircase. “I’m going to run up and get it, but you guys can just go ahead. I’ll come with Caroline.”  
  
Once again, the girls shrug and keep going, and I’m left to go back up to the dormitory alone.  
  
When I walk in, Caroline’s in the process of taking off her dress and sliding on a pair of pajama shorts and a tank top. She sees me and freezes, her cheeks turning a bright shade of pink.  
  
“What are you doing?” I ask, more than just a little confused. “I thought we were going to the party.”  
  
Caroline, now fully clothed in her pajamas, sits down on her bed. She sighs, twisting a strand of hair around her finger. “Can you keep a secret?”  
  
It’s an odd question, and I’m momentarily taken aback. “Yeah, of course I can,” I eventually reply, walking towards her bed and sitting at the end of it.  
  
She sighs again, pulling a textbook off her nightstand and into her lap. “McGonagall pulled me aside on Monday. You know all that drama that happened last spring with my father trying to contact me and my mum?”  
  
I nod, staying silent so that Caroline can explain herself uninterrupted.  
  
“Well, it had me so stressed out that I let my grades slip. I failed three of my final exams.  _Three_. I can’t get any sort of job if I fail that many of my NEWTs. So I have to study more this year to make up for it, even if it means I can’t go to the party.  
  
“I’m sorry, Caroline, I didn’t know,” I start to say, but she cuts me off.  
  
“And that’s how I wanted it. I probably should have told you all, but I was embarrassed. I mean, what kind of Ravenclaw fails exams?”  
  
“Hey, if it makes you feel better, I failed my practical final in second year for Herbology,” I supply.  
  
“That’s because something squirted pus on you and you got so freaked out you fainted in the middle of class,” she replies, laughing at the thought.  
  
I smile too, thinking back to that day, and all of my thirteen-year-old dramatics.  
  
“So are you sure you don’t want to go to the party? You could always study more this weekend,” I say.  
  
She shrugs. “Nah, I’ve already put on more comfortable clothes and everything. I didn’t really want to go all that bad anyway.”  
  
“Okay,” I reply slowly, “well just let me know if you need anything. I’m always here for you.”  
  
“Alright, well can you do me just one favour?” she asks.  
  
“Yeah, whatever you want.”  
  
She reaches into my hair, pulling out a pin. “Let your hair down for once,” she says, smiling at me. My hair comes tumbling down my shoulders, still in curls.  
  
I run my fingers through the curls, loosening them slightly. “I’ll try.”   
  
I get up from the bed, and start to leave the room. As I’m heading out the door, Caroline says, “And Abigail?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Thanks. You know, for everything.”  
  
I smile at her. “No problem.”  
  
  


* * *

 

  
By the time I get to the Room of Requirement, the massive place where all of the Fit’s parties are held, I’m definitely late. And by that, I mean  _late_ late.  
  
The entire party is in full swing. The lights are so low there’s practically no light at all, and people are packed into every corner of the room. I immediately feel uncomfortable at arriving alone, and realise why the Royals always arrive as one group. There’s power in numbers.  
  
I try to wade through the crowd to find Brooke, Scarlett, or Blaise, but the task becomes difficult and I get tired of pushing through the masses of people.  
  
After about fifteen hopeless and exhausting minutes of searching, I give up and make my way to the drink table, more than a little stressed and definitely a bit uncomfortable.  
  
I get to the large bar area and grab a Firewhiskey shot. I’m not usually one for drinking, especially not heavy liquor, but it seems necessity right about now. I’m at a party alone, Blaise and the other Royals are nowhere to be seen, and I have no idea what to do with myself.  
  
I tip the glass back, letting the burning liquid fall into my mouth and slide down my throat. I can’t help but shudder at the unexpected strength of the alcohol.  
  
“Can’t handle your liquor?” a voice asks, and I whip my head around to see Potter leaning against a nearby windowsill.  
  
Prat. And I still haven’t figured out my revenge yet.  
  
“I can handle it perfectly fine,” I snap back. For emphasis, I grab another shot and pour it down again, this time managing to contain the shudder. The liquid feels like it’s moving through my veins, warming me up from head to toe. It’s almost – dare I say it – pleasant.  
  
“Well then, maybe you’re not as much of a lightweight as I thought,” he replies, a smirk evident on his face.  
  
I can’t tell whether it’s the low lighting or the shots I’ve just consumed, but I find myself thinking that Potter actually looks rather attractive. His dark messy hair catches the light, and his smirk reveals a small dimple on his cheek. He’s dressed in a dark button-down shirt, and the sleeves are rolled up to the elbow, revealing his rather nice-looking forearms. I stop myself internally at that – did I just think that Potter’s forearms were good-looking? Forget that, did I just think that Potter as a whole was good-looking?  
  
I need another drink.  
  
As I take the third shot, I realise that Potter has left his place against the windowsill. Where are his friends, anyway? He’s constantly with at least one of them, so seeing him isolated is a bit of a shock.  
  
But then again, I'm constantly with my friends too.  
  
“Whoa, easy there,” he says, sidling up next to me. “Don’t wanna go too fast there.”  
  
His words are slightly slurred together, meaning that I’m not the only one who’s consumed Firewhiskey tonight. “Yeah, because you’re one to talk. Your words aren’t ever clear anymore.”  
  
“Touché, Winchester,” he replies. “But I have a reason to be drinking.”  
  
Yeah, well so do I, Potter. “And that is?” I shoot back.  
  
He grabs a shot from the table, and drinks it all in one go, not even making a face at the bitter taste. “Nothing you need to know about. Or would care about, for that matter. But a reason nonetheless.”  
  
“You’re not alone in that one, Potter. My life isn’t all too hot either,” I say bitterly, thinking of the horrible week I’ve had. Granted, Potter and all the rumours associated with him have been a part of it, but the continuing fight between my parents and trying to maintain the lie about Blaise aren’t helping anything either.  
  
“So Miss Queen Bee’s world isn’t perfectly perfect anymore?” he says, chuckling to himself. “Well hey, misery loves company.”  
  
I just nod. The alcohol’s already going to my head and making everything a bit fuzzier. I don’t try to talk – I’m afraid that if I do, my words will slur and reveal that maybe I can’t hold my liquor as well as I’m trying to make it seem.  
  
“Bottoms up, I guess.” I try to re-focus my eyes and I see that Potter’s holding out another glass for me. I take it and we both pour the drinks down.  
  
The evening continues similarly, with no sign of my friends of my boyfriend, until I’ve drunk far more than I ever have before, and everything’s swimming around me. I’ve given up on staying silent, but it also takes far too much effort to separate words. I’m slurring and swaying, but at this point, I don’t even care.  
  
“I’m  _bored_ ,” Potter complains. He apparently gets whinier when drunk. “Let’s go do something else.  
  
“That’s fine by me,” I giggle. I apparently laugh more when drunk – I also am more likely to agree to propositions made by the guy I vehemently dislike.  
  
We make our way out of the crowded room, but not without our fair share of stumbles. I have no idea how much alcohol I’ve actually had tonight, but it’s irrefutable that I’m completely drunk.  
  
The sensation is entirely new, but I’m not opposed to it, either. Everything’s a little less pressing – I don’t think about every little failure or every little thing that has to be perfect. Instead, I’m just enjoying things and letting things go where they go.  
  
As we finally get out of the loud and crazy Room of Requirement, we start trying to travel down the long hallways.  
  
“Where are we going?” I ask, trying to think logically. It makes my brain hurt. “We can’t just wander the hallways – we’ll get caught.”  
  
Potter pauses for a minute, screwing his eyebrows up in concentration. It’s a comical look on him, and I can’t help but laugh again. I’ve probably laughed more in the past two hours than I have in the past two weeks, but I can’t help it. Everything’s just so much funnier now.  
  
Suddenly a look of realization dawns on his face. “I know where we’ll go! Follow me!”  
  
He starts running, but I quickly realise that with both alcohol and heels, I can’t keep up. “Oi, Potter! Slow down!”  
  
He doesn’t seem to hear me, and keeps going like an overexcited puppy.  
  
I take my shoes off, and start running after him. I follow him all the way to the entrance hall, where he pushes open the huge doors and steps outside.  
  
“Okay, where are you taking us?” I’m confused, because there’s really not much to do outside, and I don’t really want to go into the Forbidden Forest because who knows what's hiding in there.  
  
“You’ll see. You’ll like it, I promise."  
  
We walk across the grounds, until Potter finally gets near the Whomping Willow. He picks up a pile of stones and starts throwing them at the base of the tree. It takes him a few tries, but he finally hits a certain spot and the whole tree stops moving, almost as if it had been immobilized.  
  
Potter grabs my hand and starts to pull me towards the base of the tree. “Let’s go, Winchester! You’re being slow.”  
  
I giggle. “Well, I’m sorry I don’t know where I’m going. It’s not  _my_ fault.” It crosses my mind that, if we were sober, this would be an argument, not a conversation. But the thought leaves my mind as quickly as it came.  
  
“Okay,” Potter tries to explain, his words slurred heavily, “just slide down this hole after me.”  
  
I stare at the hole in the ground by the tree – what am I supposed to do with that? But before I have the chance to ask Potter anything, he’s sliding down the hole, making a whole bunch of noise as he does so.  
  
I figure it’s now or never; I crawl towards the ground and slide down the hole after him.  
  
I don’t know what my drunken mind was expecting to find, but I’m shocked to see a whole passageway forming from the small hole we came from. Potter is standing up a few feet away, casually brushing dirt off his jeans. I unintentionally stare at him, once again that he’s actually quite good-looking.  
  
And this time, there’s no sober part of my mind to snap me out of it.  
  
“Like what you see, Winchester?” Potter says, smirking.  
  
I roll my eyes – or try to, anyway. My eyeballs just don’t want to move in that way. “As if. Don’t let that head of yours over-inflate.” I try not to laugh as I talk, but my shoulders shake anyway.  
  
“Good to know you still hate me even when you’re drunk.”  
  
“I – I don’t hate you,” I reply, stumbling on my words slightly. “You’re a right immature idiot, but I don’t hate you. Vehemently dislike you, maybe.”  
  
Potter tilts his head, almost to ponder this thought. “Well that’s good to know, I guess. Let’s just keep going.”  
  
I finally stand up and start following Potter through the passageway. It’s small, narrow, and dirty – barely tall enough for me to stand straight. As if walking normally while drunk was hard, walking hunched over while drunk was even worse.  
  
From ahead, I hear an  _oof_ , but I don’t think of much of it. Until, of course, I end up tripping over something and falling flat on my face.  
  
I’m fully expecting to make contact with the dirt, and I hold my arms out for impact, but instead I land on something else. A person. Potter, to be exact.  
  
I scramble to stand up quickly, feeling my cheeks heat up uncomfortably. Thank Godric it’s dark.  
  
“Whoa there,” Potter says, standing up. “Watch your step.”  
  
I realise that somehow we’ve ended up only inches away from each other.  
  
“Oops,” I reply, giggling. “But in my defence, you tripped first.”  
  
“Maybe I did, but – “  
  
I don’t understand exactly how it happens or who initiates it, but somehow, Potter doesn’t finish his sentence and suddenly his lips are on mine.  
  
He tastes like Firewhiskey and faint mint, and his lips are remarkably soft, a sharp contrast to the roughness of his hands, which are currently entwining themselves in my hair.  
  
I find myself pulling him closer; if there’s even a pocket of air in between us, it’s too much. He’s like drug, even sweeter than the alcohol I’ve gone through tonight.  
  
I don’t know how we end up getting through the passageway, but I do know that we hardly break from one another for a second.   
  
The whole world is forgotten – for the moment, I don’t care where we are or what my friends are doing or why my parents are fighting. All I care about is the feeling of his mouth on mine and his hands fumbling with the zipper on the back of my dress until it finally slides off, leaving me in just my bra and knickers.

I return the favour, undoing the buttons on his shirt and pulling it off of him. And before I can even think about what I’m doing, I’m unbuttoning his jeans and there’s no turning back.

 

* * *

 

  
Sunlight streams into the room, the brightness making my head pound. I reach for the curtains around my bed, but end up grabbing at nothing. I open my eyes, just enough to see my surroundings. They quickly open all the way when I realise that I have no idea where I am.  
  
I’m in a poorly crafted, ancient-looking bed, and the whole room around me looks to be unkempt and rarely used. There’s also the soft sound of someone breathing, and I look to my right to notice that I’m not in the bed alone.  
  
It takes only a few more seconds for me to realise that I’m also not clothed.  
  
I sit bolt upright in bed, clutching the sheet around me, headache entirely forgotten. From beside me, the person rolls over, blinking briefly at the bright sun.  
  
It’s Potter. As I gape at him, the whole night comes rushing back to me, and my eyes practically fall out of my head in shock.  
  
The next word that leaves my mouth is not one I’m proud of.  
  
“Fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneak peek of chapter 6…
> 
> “Bloody fuck,” he says abruptly, splaying his hand across his face. “Did we really…?”
> 
> “Took you long enough,” I say sarcastically. “Now please explain, where are we?”
> 
> I remember a long, dirty passageway, but that doesn’t mean I know where it led to.
> 
> Potter takes his hand from his face long enough to look around briefly, and sigh, “The Shrieking Shack.”
> 
> WHAT?
> 
> Judging by Potter’s wince, I said that out loud.


	6. Complication #6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the lights come on, things are rarely as simple as they were in the dark.

“Fuck.”  
  
Potter sits up leisurely, running his hand through his hair. He blinks lazily a few times, before saying, “Well, that’s a word I never expected out of your mouth. But yes, Winchester, that’s what it’s called when - ”  
  
“Shut it, okay?” I snap, looking around wildly for my mysteriously missing clothes. “I’m not in the mood for your smartass comments.”  
  
“You’re just full of swearing this morning, aren’t you?”  
  
How can he be so nonchalant about this? He dislikes me as much, if not more, than I do him – why is he not as scarred by this as I am?  
  
I can picture every moment of last night – I was definitely drunk, but clearly not drunk enough. What actually happened last night was bad enough, so forgetting it would have been nice, but it looks like I won’t get even that.  
  
“Bloody fuck,” he says abruptly, splaying his hand across his face. “Did we really…?”  
  
“Took you long enough,” I say sarcastically. “Now please explain, where are we?”  
  
I remember a long, dirty passageway, but that doesn’t mean I know where it led to.  
  
Potter takes his hand from his face long enough to look around briefly, and sigh, “The Shrieking Shack.”  
  
 _WHAT?_  
  
Judging by Potter’s wince, I said that out loud.  
  
“WHY ON EARTH WOULD YOU THINK THE SHRIEKING SHACK WAS A GOOD PLACE TO GO WHEN YOU’RE DRUNK?” I scream. The shrillness of my voice hurts even my ears, but not enough so that I feel the need to stop. “DO YOU JUST DRAG EVERY GIRL YOU MEET TO THE MOST HAUNTED BLOODY LOCATION IN ALL OF BRITAIN?”  
  
“For the love of Godric,” Potter moans, “stop yelling.”  
  
“I will do whatever I want, thank you very much. I think at this point I’m entitled to!” I’m a bit quieter this time, but more due to a lack of energy than any obedience to Potter’s hungover requests.  
  
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot my bra and knickers at the edge of the room, and start trying to determine the best way to reach them without exposing myself in the process.  
  


“Well, this place isn’t actually haunted, so you can chill out on that matter,” Potter says. “And I’m not really in the mood to defend myself, considering you followed me out here, and  _you’re_  the one in a relationship.”

  
All my thoughts come to a halt – how could I have forgotten about Blaise? How could I be so stupid as to ignore my five-year relationship?  
  
Now I’m the one with my head in my hands, my breath all but halted in my chest.  
  
“Whoa,” he says, clearly noticing my abrupt distress, “it’s not going to be  _that_  hard to hide it from him. Everyone was drunk last night – say you fell asleep in a corridor or something. It’s not like you were a – shit, Winchester, were you a virgin?”  
  
I silently nod – how am I supposed to hide this from Blaise? And even if it were that easy, how do I get over the fact that I lost my virginity to an obnoxious Gryffindor instead of to my committed boyfriend?  
  
“Well,” he sighs, “that complicates things.”  
  
I lift my head, looking at him with a sarcastic expression. “Yeah, just a little bit. Now, if you’ll look away, I’d like to be able to grab my clothes from over there.”  
  
Now it’s his turn to be snarky. “I hardly think that’s necessary, it’s not like it’s anything I haven’t seen before,” he smirks. “I may have been drunk, but that doesn’t mean I can’t remember it all.”  
  
I reach out and smack him on the arm –  _hard_. I smirk when he yelps and reaches for his bicep. “Perv,” I mutter.  
  
“That wasn’t necessary,” he says, rubbing his arm. “But it you insist, I’ll look away.”  
  
“Thank you,” I reply, overly sweet-sounding. I quickly run across the room, collecting my clothes. I start to put them on, before realizing my white dress is completely covered in dirt. Wearing that would be bound to result in suspicion, so I throw it back in the corner and resign to wearing just the slip. It’s scandalous-looking, but nowhere near as questionable as a dress covered in dirt.  
  
When I turn my head back towards the bed, Potter’s already in his jeans and pulling his shirt on, facing away from me. I stare at the red scratches snaking down his back, and I feel a rush of embarrassment when I realise that I'm the one who put them there.  
  
I snap my head away before he notices me looking at him, and try to locate my red heels. I thought they’d be easy to find, based on the obnoxious color and all, but clearly they didn’t stay in an easily visible location.  
  
But once I leave the bedroom, I find them almost immediately– they’re thrown haphazardly to the ground, along with Potter’s shoes. I slide them on my feet, but quickly realise my hungover dizziness is only magnified by the five-inch stilettos, so I resign to holding them in my hands.  
  
I look behind me to find Potter standing in the doorway. When he sees me looking at him, he winks. “You know, Winchester, for a virgin, that was some pretty damn good sex.”  
  
“Do  _not_  say that word,” I snarl, avoiding any thought of the events of the previous night.  
  
“Sex?” Potter says, eyebrows raised.  
  
My eyes turn to slits in response.  
  
I find myself wondering why Potter’s still so nonchalant about this, but then I realise that he’s not one who lost his virginity, and he’s not the one who cheated. I’m the only one with something to lose.  
  
Once again, Potter gets out of everything with barely a scratch.  
  
How is it that I always get the short end of the wand? I round on Potter, trying to control my frustration. With grated teeth, I say, “Okay, I’m heading out of this passageway. Wait twenty minutes, and then you can come. And I swear to Godric, if you mention this to anyone, I will have your head presented to McGonagall on a silver platter.”  
  
“I’m shocked I’m even worth the platter,” he comments casually, flinching as bright light pours through the window.   
  
“Damn,” he mutters, stepping back into darkness and rubbing his temples, “I’m even more hungover than I thought.”  
  
“Well, good for you, Potter,” I snap. “You’re not the only one. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m getting out of here.”  
  
I head down the small tunnel I remember coming through, this time taking care that I don’t get my slip dirty. After what seems like hours of slow, cautious movements, I finally see light. I squint my eyes and try to protect my face, but it’s no use. The sun is excessively bright this morning, and it makes my head pound even louder.  
  
The walk back to the castle is a painful experience, to say the least. I try to move quickly in order to get out of the brightness, but quick movements make everything start spinning, so I settle for moving at a ridiculously slow pace.  
  
When I finally make it into the dim castle, I can’t help but sigh in relief – and even more so once I reach my dormitory room. The early Saturday morning means that I encounter almost no students walking back to my dorm, and even those I do are all first- or second-years – all the older ones are recovering from the party.  
  
The knocker is a bit of a challenge; my brain refuses to cooperate, and eventually I spout out a random answer, and I’m allowed in, more likely out of sympathy than accuracy.  
  
The dormitory is empty, thankfully, and I collapse on my bed in peace. It’s only then that I realise how hungover I am – I guess that the adrenaline from the previous situation masked it, but now I’m left swearing that I’ll never drink anything ever again.   
  
But really, what did I expect to happen when I went from rarely drinking any alcohol to pouring as much Firewhiskey down my throat as I could muster?  
  
My head pounds and my stomach churns, and I find myself stumbling to the bathroom, only to lose the contents of my stomach into the nearest toilet bowl.   
  
As I rest my head against the cool wall, I’m grateful that at least this waited until I wasn’t in front of Potter. The events of last night were bad enough – I can’t imagine what would have happened if I had vomited in front of him.  
  
He’d never let me forget that he can hold his liquor better than me, that's what.  
  
Every thought halts as I come to a realization: Potter and I didn’t use protection. We were drunk and stupid and there was nothing at all to protect us from anything.  There’s no way in hell I intend on getting pregnant, so I dig through Scarlett’s trunk to find her contraceptive potion – I know she has a bottle somewhere.  
  
I find the large vial and pour some of it down my throat – an amount large enough to have an effect but small enough that she most likely won’t notice. The potion tastes vile, and does little to help the disgusting vomit taste in my mouth, but I’m too exhausted to do anything about it.  
  
I crawl back into bed, drawing the curtains to block out the light and burrowing myself deep under the covers.  
  
I’ll find a way to fix this later, but for now, I just want to sleep.  
  


* * *

  
  
I sleep for practically all of Saturday, and late into Sunday morning. The girls ask me what’s wrong, and I simply tell them I drank too much Friday night and got lost somewhere in the castle. It’s a half-truth, but I still feel guilty for lying to them.  
  
Sometime before noon, I finally get out of bed, put on a simple dress and just enough makeup to feel presentable, and leave the dormitory with books in tow. I stop by the Great Hall with the intention of getting lunch, but the crowds are nothing I feel like dealing with – I’m no longer hungover, but I also don’t feel like dealing with the Hogwarts students.   
  
So instead, I head to the library, hoping to get some work done that clearly didn’t get done earlier in the weekend. I find an isolated table near the back of the library, among the History of Magic books no one really visits. It’s a shame the class is taught by the dullest ghost in existence, because the subject matter alone isn’t as dreadful and the droning voice of Binns seems to make it.  
  
I start working on essays, but am interrupted only halfway through the first essay by a copy of the  _Prophet_  being slammed down on top of my parchment.  
  
“Would you look at that?” a familiar voice asks. “We made the front page.”  
  
I look up at Potter for a moment, horrified, before looking down at the paper. I scan it briefly for signs of a scandal, but find nothing related to Potter or me.  
  
Instead, I find a bold headline in the bottom right corner saying, “New Noises from the Shrieking Shack Suggest Ghost Return.”  
  
I look at him, eyebrows raised.  
  
“Read it,” Potter says, a touch of amusement evident in his voice. I begin to scan over the article.

  
  
_The Shrieking Shack of Hogsmeade was once known as the most haunted place in Britain, but after years of quietness, the Shack was considered abandoned by the spirits. No noise has come from the Shack since the late 1970s._   
  
_However, Hogsmeade residents report hearing shrill noises coming from the Shack on Friday night and Saturday morning, in isolated incidents._   
  
_Melinda Burns, whose house is not far from the Shack, tells her story._   
  
_“Well, I was just walking through my house, performing cleaning spells, when all of a sudden, I heard some noise outside my house. When I stuck my head out to investigate, it definitely sounded like something was coming from the Shrieking Shack.”_   
  
_Burns reported that the noise was only short-lived and has not re-occurred sence then, but residents living in houses erected in the 2010s after the Shack was declared no longer haunted are now frightened. If the Shack has regained its haunted status, they worry that they need to evacuate the area, and quick._   
  
_While no clear judgment call can be made, it looks like Hogsmeade definitely has some new drama._

  
  
As I finish the article, I look back up at Potter, whose smirk is the largest I’ve seen it.  
  
“Congratulations, Winchester, you’ve officially been classified as a ghost. And next time, you might want to learn to be a bit quieter. In more ways than one.”  
  
I narrow my eyes at him. “I thought I told you not to mention any of…  _that_  ever again. Especially in a place where other people could hear you.”  
  
Potter pulls out a chair and sits down, putting his feet up on the table. “Relax, I’ve already scanned the area – nobody comes into the History of Magic section, except apparently you.”  
  
I wrinkle my nose at his foul manners, but realise that he has a point nonetheless. I shrug and reply, “Whatever.”  
  
I turn back to my essay, dipping my quill into the ink.  
  
Before I get the chance to write another word, Potter’s hand is on top of my paper. I briefly consider stabbing him with the sharp nib. That would be pleasurable.  
  
“Come on, Winchester,” he says, “you’ve got to admit that it’s at least a little funny. Someone out there heard you yelling your ass off at me and immediately thought it was a ghost – there’s gotta be some humour in that, even for you.”  
  
I consider it – in retrospect, it is kind of funny that, of all the things that could end up revealed about what happened that night, someone heard noises from the Shrieking Shack and assumed it was haunted, and decided to report it to the newspaper – one that thought the story was significant enough to post on the front page.  
  
When in reality it was just two drunk teenagers engaging in scandal. Forget funny, the whole scenario’s entirely ridiculous.  
  
So I do something even I’m not expecting. I look up at Potter, and I smile. Nothing major, but a small, genuine smile that takes him a moment to register. And when he does, he almost falls out of his chair in shock – which leads me to let out a giggle.  
  
As he rights himself, I realise that I’ve been staring at him for far too long, and I look back down at my parchment in an attempt to conceal it.  
  
I start to write my essay again, waiting for Potter to get bored and leave.  
  
But he doesn’t. Instead, he plucks a book from the shelf and starts reading it.  
  
His feet are still on the table. I still don’t like him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneak peek of chapter 7...
> 
> “Potter was spotted leaving the party with a girl, and rumour has it he didn’t return to his dorm until morning,” Brooke announces, her cheeky grin stretching even wider.
> 
> Potter doesn’t normally hook up with Hogwarts girls, or date them, or anything like that. He’s actually rather famous for that, as girls would probably throw themselves at him if he showed any interest in them, but he’s never so much as taken a girl to Hogsmeade. 
> 
> People were actually beginning to question his sexuality, but then a pretty little blonde girl showed up at one of our Hogsmeade trips in fifth year – apparently his "girlfriend" from Beauxbatons at the time. But he’s never gotten involved with Hogwarts girls. 
> 
> Until now.
> 
> Aren’t I just so lucky to have been the one he chose?


	7. Complication #7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are eyes everywhere, especially in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

I skip dinner Sunday night, as the memory of losing the contents of my stomach multiple times in one morning is still too fresh to allow my appetite to return to me.  
  
I sit on my bed, continuing to read  _The Scarlet Letter_ and suddenly finding myself much more sympathetic to Hester Prynne, when suddenly the dorm is filled with conversation as Caroline, Scarlett, and Brooke all come in.  
  
“Abigail!” Caroline exclaims, noticing me. “You’re up!”  
  
“Oh, it’s so good to see that you’re feeling better!” Scarlett says, rushing up to sit by me and run her hand through my hair in a motherly gesture.  
  
“And just in time, too,” Brooke says, sitting at the foot of the bed. “There’s so much we have to tell you.”  
  
I flick my wand to shut the curtains, officially initiating a gossip session. “Alright, spill,” I say, feeling suddenly energized by the thrill of new news.  
  
“Did you see Dominique at the party?” Scarlett asks, still playing with my hair.  
  
I shake my head. “Honestly, Friday night was a blur.”  
  
“Yeah, about that,” Caroline prods, “what happened to you? You usually never drink, especially not like that.”  
  
I sigh, collecting my thoughts into the lie I’d already rehearsed about a hundred times. “I don’t know – I didn’t drink that much, as far as I recall. I think someone put something in my drink.”  
  
“Seriously?” Scarlett exclaims, dropping the strand of hair she was twiddling. “Who the fuck would do something like that?”  
  
I shrug nonchalantly. “I have no idea, but that’s not important – “  
  
Scarlett interrupts me with a, “Hell yes, it is!” but I ignore her and keep talking.  
  
“What’s important is whatever you were going to tell me about Dominique,” I finish.  
  
Scarlett pouts, but luckily Brooke steps in, going alone with my nonchalance.  
  
“She looked nothing like herself. As in, goodbye frumpy T-shirts and sweats and hello sparkly dresses and stilettos.”  
  
“You should have seen this dress,” Scarlett huffs. “Skin tight, white and sparkly, with a one-shoulder thing going on – she looked like some sort of fucking supermodel, and I’m pretty sure every guy in the room that wasn’t related to her was staring at her ass.”  
  
I lean in closer – this is interesting news. “But why the sudden change?” I ask, a bit confused by the sudden transformation.  
  
Caroline shrugs. “Godric knows. But I’ll bet you anything there was a boy involved. Everything involves a boy.”  
  
“Too true,” Scarlett adds, wrapping her own hair around her finger in an attempt to get her stick straight hair to curl.  
  
Brooke sighs loudly. After a few moments of silence, she picks up again. “Speaking of boys, you know how that Slytherin nobody pulled me over at dinner?”  
  
The other girls nod, so I do as well, despite having no idea what she’s talking about, given that I wasn’t actually at dinner.  
  
“Well,” she says, a devilish smile spreading across her face, “she had a bit of news about a certain James Potter.”  
  
I snap my head up unconsciously at the comment. I try to act nonchalant, but there’s no escaping the pounding of my heart and the sudden constriction of my vocal cords.  
  
How could they know? Were we that obvious? Did the whole school know? What was Blaise going to do? But wouldn’t Brooke be more confrontational if she already knew what happened? Maybe I was getting ahead of myself. Maybe this rumour was something else entirely.  
  
“Ooh, spill!” Scarlett cries, bouncing excitedly. Given Potter’s not-so-scandalous reputation, any gossip is something to be excited about, given that I’d do anything to knock his ego down a peg.  
  
I’d be excited too were it not for the fact that I might be involved in this one.  
  
“Potter was spotted leaving the party with a girl, and rumour has it he didn’t return to his dorm until morning,” Brooke announces, her cheeky grin stretching even wider.  
  
Potter doesn’t normally hook up with Hogwarts girls, or date them, or anything like that. He’s actually rather famous for that, as girls would practically throw themselves at him if he showed any interest in them, but he’s never so much as taken a girl to Hogsmeade.   
  
People were actually beginning to question his sexuality, but then a busty little blonde showed up at Hogsmeade – apparently his girlfriend from Beauxbatons at the time. But he’s never gotten involved with Hogwarts girls.   
  
Until now.  
  
Aren’t I just  _so_ lucky to have been the one he chose?  
  
I snort internally.  
  
I feign surprise, praying there’s no news about  _who_ the girl is.  
  
“Who’s the lucky girl?” Caroline asks.  
  
I scoff in a rather unladylike fashion. “Lucky isn’t exactly what I’d call it.”  
  
Scarlett rolls her eyes. “I know you loathe him, Abigail, but you have to admit, he’s actually pretty hot, if you ignore his personality.”  
  
She has a point – and she hasn’t even seen him with his shirt off.  
  
I quickly push the thought from my mind. I want nothing to do with that night ever again.  
  
I shrug. “Blaise is much hotter, if you ask me.”  
  
Except there really aren't grounds for comparison – the boys are definitely both attractive, but in totally different ways. I don't quite know how to explain it - they're just different kinds of fit.  
  
Brooke smirks. “Well he’s your boyfriend, so you pretty much have to say that.”  
  
“I’m sure we’ll know who it was in time,” Caroline says, bringing the focus back to the matter at hand. “Because Godric knows some girl is going to start flaunting all over the school that she hooked up with the elusive James Potter.”  
  
I snicker, knowing that the girls think I’m amused by the idea of a random girl running all over school trying to gain popularity for this “achievement.” But of course, I’m thinking about the fact that I have zero intention of doing anything like that.  
  
“Wait, Abigail, I just thought of something!” Scarlett says suddenly, her eyes getting huge. “What if it was Potter?”  
  
I crinkle my eyebrows, lost by this sudden change in topic. “What are you talking about?”  
  
“The person who put something in your drink. What if it was Potter?”   
  
“What?” I ask, still confused.  
  
“It makes perfect sense,” Scarlett replies, as if this is the most logical thing in the world. “He didn’t dye your hair the first night, because he was waiting to do this to you instead, but he wanted to throw you off your guard with the hair colour thing.”  
  
“Really?” Brooke asks, eyebrows raised. “I know that Potter can be a major twat with the maturity of a first year, but I don’t think he would ever go that far.”  
  
I shrug, trying to stay out of this conversation and wait for the topic to change.  
  
“Brooke’s right, “ Caroline chimes in. “He does have at least some semblance of morals – he is a Gryffindor, after all. I don’t think he would have done anything that extreme just to get back at Abigail for hexing him at a pub.”  
  
“Whatever you say,” Scarlett shrugs. “I still think it was him. Who else would it be?”  
  
Brooke sighs. “I don’t know, but let’s not do anything about it until we know for sure.”  
  
“Honestly, I don’t even know if someone spiked my drink,” I say, trying to backtrack what’s quickly turned into a dangerous topic of conversation. “It was just a theory, after all. There are a lot of other things that could have happened, really.”  
  
Scarlett pouts, but I’ve had the final word on the subject, and she knows it.  
  
And with that, the conversation changes to the boy Brooke danced with on Friday night, and I can finally relax again.  
   


* * *

  
  
  
Waking up Monday morning fills me with dread – it’s no longer acceptable for me to hide out in my room, and I know at some point today, I’m going to see  _him._  
  
“Oh, Abigaiiiiiiiil!” Scarlett cries, sitting at the edge of my bed and pulling the covers off of me. “Wake up, sunshine!”  
  
I like to think of myself as somewhat of a morning person, but that doesn’t even hold a candle to Scarlett. The amount of energy she has immediately after waking up is alarming.  
  
“I’m awake,” I mutter, begrudgingly pushing myself up out of bed.  
  
“Caroline! Wake up, wake up, wake up!” Scarlett has moved on to her next victim.  
  
I make my way to the bathroom, and find myself shocked when I see my reflection in the mirror. Clearly, rarely moving from my bed for a whole weekend hasn’t done me any favors – my hair’s a frizzy mess, my eyes are ringed with black makeup, and my whole complexion is significantly paler.  
  
Well, this is going to be a piece of work.  
  
An hour and a half later, I’m finally happy with the reflection looking back at me. My hair is smoothed out, my eye makeup is perfect, and my skin has a nice glow to it. Everything about me says,  _no, Potter, I’m not affected at all by what happened this weekend._  
  
Not that I care what he thinks about me anyway.  
  
“If we don’t leave soon, we’re going to be late,” Caroline complains, from the door leading out of the dormitory.  
  
“I’m coming,” I reply, quickly running to grab my school bag. The other two girls already went down for breakfast, but Caroline decided to wait for me, since she claimed she wasn’t all that hungry.  
  
“Do you want to just go straight to Potions?” Caroline asks as we head down towards the Common Room. “We may be a little early, but there’s not really time to eat breakfast.”  
  
“Sure,” I shrug. “I’m not all that hungry, anyway.”  
  
This is a blatant lie – I’ve barely eaten all weekend and now my appetite has returned in full force, but I also see her logic, so I go with it.  
  
The rest of our walk is comfortably silent – neither of us really have anything else to say, and that’s perfectly fine.  
  
When we get to Potions, the classroom is abandoned. Everyone else is likely still finishing up breakfast, so we’re the first people in the room.  
  
“So,” I ask carefully, “how is everything going, with, you know, your family?”  
  
Caroline doesn’t even look up at me as she answers, “I mean, it’s fine. Mum’s still a little shaken up over everything that happened last year, but for the most part, everything’s gone back to normal and that scumbag is out of our lives for good.”  
  
I don’t know why, but I get the feeling she’s not telling me everything. I’m about to prod her a little more, just to see if she’ll tell me anything more, when suddenly, the classroom is filled with noise.   
  
I turn to the back, and notice that all of the students are filing in to the classroom. And, unsurprisingly, the source of the boisterous noise is coming entirely from the Fits.  
  
Merlin knows how all four of them made it to N.E.W.T. level Potions.  
  
Potter is currently the one talking, making elaborate hand gestures and speaking loud enough that everyone and their mother can hear his conversation.  
  
“ – obviously it’s been a while since I hooked up with someone, but – “  
  
“A while, mate?” Avery laughs. “I don’t think you’ve ever hooked up with a girl from Hogwarts!”  
  
“That doesn’t mean I haven’t in other places,” James retorts, in defence of his promiscuity, which, in my opinion, isn’t something a person would want to be defending.  
  
But hey, it’s Potter. He’s an idiot.  
  
“I can’t believe you still haven’t told us who the lucky girl was!” Weasley replies, sounding a bit put out by this withholding of information.  
  
Well, phew. Potter hasn’t blown our cover. Which is good, because if he had, I would have had to kill him in the most painful way possible.  
  
“I can’t believe the lucky girl hasn’t told all of Hogwarts!” Crosby says.  
  
Potter shrugs. “Maybe she’s not in the habit of kissing and telling.”  
  
You hit that one right on the nose, Potter.  
  
“Or maybe she’s just afraid of how people would react to being branded as James’s fuck buddy,” Avery adds with a laugh.  
  
I have to close my eyes and take a deep breath at that, as anger starts to pour into my veins and bring heat to my face.  
  
“Or maybe her performance wasn’t up to par, and she doesn’t want that information going around,” Weasley throws in, laughing even harder.  
  
“Nah, she was a damn good shag,” Potter shoots back casually.  
  
Something in me snaps. I whirl around in my seat, eyes practically blazing with fury.  
  
“Could you lot  _please_ , for the love of Merlin, just  _shut up_  for once?” Everyone whips their heads in my direction, and I think Caroline’s eyes are about to pop out of her head.  
  
Normally, when I argue with Potter, I can at least act like I'm in control. But not right now.   
  
I stare at Potter, fully directing all of my frustration in his direction. “Have you ever thought, maybe just for a moment, that most people don’t want to have to hear about your sex life? I’m about to lose my breakfast over here.”  
  
“On the contrary, I think my sex life is a very interesting matter,” he replies cockily, a smirk evident on his face.  
  
“Regardless,” I sneer, “it’s a private matter, not one you should be shouting across the whole classroom. I pity the poor girl who had to share a bed with you.”  
  
I recognize the extreme irony in that statement, and I hope it stings him.  
  
Before Potter has a chance to reply, Professor Zabini walks into the classroom, effectively silencing the argument with a, “Settle down, class. Let’s get started.”  
  
The last thing I hear before the class goes silent comes from Weasley: “Well, at least we know which girl it  _isn’t_.”  
  
I smirk to myself. Oh how wrong you are, Weasley.  
   


* * *

  
  
Despite our previous altercation, Potter still ends up sitting across from me at my usually-isolated study table.  
  
“That was a pretty good acting job you did in Potions today,” Potter tells me as I sit down, eyeing him cautiously.  
  
“I wasn’t acting, Potter,” I reply simply, pulling my books out of my bag and setting them on the table as a barrier between us.  
  
“Well,” Potter replies, scratching the back of his neck, “I was.”  
  
“What?” I ask, stunned.  
  
Potter takes a moment, before slowly saying, “Well yeah, I wouldn’t normally be that obnoxious about something that private. Despite your opinions, I’m not a total twat – I just wanted to get you to snap at me so that everyone would think that nothing happened between us. It worked, after all – you heard Freddy, right?”  
  
I stare at him dumbfounded, trying to process what he’s just said. I blink stupidly a few times, and Potter waves his hand in front of my face, clearly concerned with the possibility that he may have broken me.  
  
Finally, I gather my words. “Wow, Potter, I-I’m actually… impressed. I didn’t know that you would think through something like that.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah,” he replies casually, “I may be a Gryffindor, but that doesn’t mean I’m not capable of being devious when I want to be.”  
  
His response leaves me speechless, yet again. I would reply, but by the time I’ve thought about what I would say, he’s already flipping through a textbook, biting on the edge of a quill in concentration.  
  
So instead, I leave him be, and we study in silence, an inexplicable peace settling between the two of us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneak peek of chapter 8...
> 
> “I’ve narrowed it down to three potential candidates.”
> 
> “What?” I ask, looking up from my book at a very determined Scarlett. I was enjoying some alone time in the dorm – a real rarity when you have three best friends as roommates – and I’m not too keen on being interrupted.
> 
> However, it’s Scarlett, and she’s my closest friend. So I let it slide.
> 
> “The girl Potter fucked. I’ve narrowed it down to three potential girls,” she replies matter-of-factly.


	8. Complication #8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Try as you may, you can never truly erase the past.

“I’ve narrowed it down to three potential candidates.”  
  
“What?” I ask, looking up from my book at a very determined Scarlett. I was enjoying some alone time in the dorm – a real rarity when you have three best friends as roommates – and I’m not too keen on being interrupted.  
  
However, it’s Scarlett, and she’s my closest friend. So I let it slide.  
  
“The girl Potter fucked. I’ve narrowed it down to three potential girls,” she replies matter-of-factly.  
  
I sigh. I’m completely done with this topic, and Scarlett, along with the entire student body of Hogwarts, is not ready to let it go.  
  
But on the bright side, my name hasn’t come up once, so maybe there’s a chance I can put this whole mess behind me.  
  
“Who?” I ask, trying to keep the annoyance out of my voice.  
  
“Well, there’s Madeline, because she’s obsessed with him but she’s too much of a prude to admit to sleeping with anyone. And then there’s that Hufflepuff girl Dom, is always with, not her cousin obviously, because that’s disgusting, because she wouldn’t want to say anything because she’s so close with Dom.”  
  
“Last time I checked, that’s only two potential candidates,” I say, relaxing a little bit and smirking at Scarlett.  
  
She pauses for a moment. “The third isn’t really a specific person, just a category. It’s gotta be someone who hates Potter a whole lot. That’s like one of the only reasons she wouldn’t go around bragging to everyone.”  
  
My palms start sweating – while I know she’s not at all referring to me, it scares me that she’s made this sort of connection. How much longer before someone makes an actual connection to me? I can’t let that happen.  
  
“Okay,” I reply nonchalantly, looking down at my book and hoping that my reddening cheeks don’t give anything away.  
  
“Come on, Abigail,” Scarlett whines. “Why don’t you care about this at all? It’s crazy gossip, and if we were to figure out who the girl was before anyone else, we’d have a ridiculous amount of power.”  
  
“We already have a ridiculous amount of power,” I reply, throwing my hair over my shoulder. “We don’t need to spend hours sleuthing around to prove it.”  
  
She crosses her arms. “Fine then. You don’t have to help me. But I’m going to find the girl who hates Potter the most, who’s not you, of course, since you’ve got Blaise and all.”  
  
She really needs to put it all right in my face, doesn’t she? I have Blaise, but I still managed to be the girl that slept with Potter. A vicious wave of guilt hits me like the Hogwarts Express, and I feel like I can’t breathe.  
  
“R-right,” I stammer, “of course. I’m going to go to the loo, if you don’t mind.”  
  
In a hurried fashion, I place my book on my bed and quickly throw myself off the bed, desperate to get to a place that’s anywhere but here.  
  
When I get into the bathroom, I immediately take a long look at my complexion. While there are no obvious signs of my distress, I can feel a cold sweat that’s broken out across my face and neck.  
  
I quickly splash my face with cold water, taking deep breaths. How did I manage to get myself in such a bad situation?  
  
I hear Scarlett’s footsteps, followed by an opening and closing of a door. I know she’s left the room, so I let myself go back into the dormitory. I place my book on the nightstand, sit on my bed, and shut my curtains.  
  
I pull my knees tightly to my chest, wanting nothing more than to rip my hair out in stress. But of course, I like my hair exactly where it is. I fight the tears threatening to spill onto my cheeks, taking deep breaths and effectively stopping my own mental breakdown before it starts.   
  
Instead, I start planning.  
  
I need to get rid of any hint that I could be the guilty party, and I also need to get rid of the guilt I feel every time someone brings up what happened. I push my curtains aside and start pacing the dorm room, allowing my mind to wander.  
  
And then suddenly, I have a plan. A way to absolve my own feelings of guilt and (hopefully) quell any suspicions that I was the girl Potter hooked up with.  
  
I have to sleep with Blaise.  
  
If I sleep with him, I’ll no longer feel guilty about Potter, because the two cancel out, right? And then, in the process of making sure Blaise’s roommates don’t come back to the dorm, it’ll start gossip, and people will associate me as sleeping with Blaise, and obviously I wouldn’t be sleeping with both boys, because who does that?  
  
Me, actually, but no one will know that.  
  
I start putting together the details. This needs to happen as soon as possible. I decide on Friday night.   
  
So between now and then, I need to make sure that Blaise’s dormitory is empty, find my most alluring lingerie, and make sure that no one ever associates me and Potter in… that way.  
  
It’s a perfect plan, really.  
  
   
  


* * *

  
  
  
Perfectly on schedule, I find myself in Blaise’s dormitory Friday night, wearing nothing but a deep red lingerie set, complete with matching stilettos. The room is dark, with the exception of about five candles near Blaise’s bed. While it’s nowhere near as romantic as the setting I had planned for his at my father’s house, it definitely does the trick. Especially considering the scenery of my previous encounter.  
  
Through bribery and possibly a few threats, I’ve already ensured that his dormmates won’t be coming back at all tonight, so I leave the curtains wide open, waiting to surprise Blaise when he opens the door.  
  
I lounge on the bed, praying that tonight won’t be a repeat of the night before we came to Hogwarts. After all, this time around, he doesn’t have anyone blowing things up to draw him away from me.  
  
I’m not quite sure what time he’s due back – he tutors third years in the library for Transfiguration until 9, so I think it’s suitable to assume he’ll be here around 9:15.  
  
I look at the clock sitting on Blaise’s bedside table – 9:15. Right on schedule, I hear footprints coming up the stairs.  
  
I quickly lie on my side, hoping to accentuate the minimal amount of cleavage I do have.  
  
The door opens, and there stands my lovely boyfriend, perfectly poised in his school uniform.  
  
As he takes in the dimly lit dormitory glowing with candlelight, and me lying on his bed, his eyes grow huge. He all but drops his bag next to him, looking at me with a mix of wonder and confusion.  
  
“Whoa, Abigail,” he says. “What is this?”  
  
I throw my legs off the side of the bed, walking over to him in the most seductive manner that I can muster. I don’t really view myself as a sexual person, so this is a struggle, but judging by the way Blaise’s eyes follow my movement, it’s working.  
  
“I’m ready, Blaise,” I reply, loosening his tie from around his neck and running my other hand down the front of his shirt. “I want you.”  
  
“Are you sure?” he asks, showing remarkable restraint for a boy whose eyes are focused almost exclusively on my chest. “I don’t want you to feel pressured into anything, and I know you wanted your first time to be a really big deal.”  
  
Yeah, and that dream went out the window when I lost my virginity in the Shrieking Shack while completely intoxicated.  
  
“It’s always a really big deal as long as I’m with you,” I purr, wrapping my arms around his neck and gently pulling his face towards mine. It’s a blatant lie, but it works on him.  
  
In an instant, his lips capture mine, and his arms wrap tightly around my waist. My fingers entangle themselves in his hair, and I instantly deepen the kiss. His tongue runs along my bottom lip, and soon I find myself flinging his already loosened tie as far away as I can, and going to work on the buttons of his white button-down shirt.  
  
He brings my legs around his waist, and I kick off the stilettos in the process. He steps backwards, and, upon hitting the edge of the bed with the back of his legs, we fall onto his bed in a tight embrace.  
  
   
  


* * *

  
  
  
Afterwards, I lie wrapped in Blaise’s arms, curled up against his bare chest. He sleeps soundly, but I can’t fall asleep just yet – my mind is racing at the speed of light, refusing to let me relax.  
  
I know I shouldn’t compare anything – Blaise is my boyfriend, after all – but I can’t help it. Everything with Blaise was perfect, exactly how I’d imagined everything going.  
  
But with Potter, it was different. It was clumsy, awkward, and spontaneous – probably at least partially owing to the fact that we were both drunk out of our minds.   
  
And as much as I hate myself for it, I think I preferred the latter. With Blaise, it just, it felt like something was missing. I know I shouldn’t be thinking this way, but I can’t help myself.  
  
It makes me feel sick to my stomach.  
  
Suddenly, I’m too hot, I’m too cramped, and Blaise’s arm feels like it’s strangling me. I have to get out of here before I forget how to breathe.  
  
I move slowly and purposefully, maneuvering myself so that I don’t move Blaise and he doesn’t notice my absence. I’ll come up with an explanation in the morning. I quickly grab a T-shirt and boxers out of Blaise’s trunk and throw them on, immediately getting out of the dormitory and inhaling some much needed fresh air.  
  
I don’t notice it happening, but before I can do anything to stop it, my breathing comes in short, strangled bursts and I feel like I’m drowning. I can’t catch my breath, and I sit on the stairs, putting my head between my legs in an attempt to catch my breath.  
  
After Merlin knows how much time, I finally feel like I can breath again. Holding tightly to the rails to compensate for my spinning head, I head down the boys’ stairs and up the girls’ ones.  
  
When I get back to my room, it’s completely dark – all the girls have already gone to sleep. I use this to my advantage; I can sneak into the room and into my bed unnoticed, because Merlin knows if they see me they’ll have questions, and I’m not sure I’m ready to answer those.  
  
I shut the curtains around me, casting a Silencing charm on the area around my bed.   
  
I crawl under the covers, curling into a fetal position. I thought tonight was supposed to absolve me of any guilt, but it did the exact opposite. I can’t stop thinking back to my night with Potter, and it’s killing me.   
  
I’m not supposed to be the type of girl who cheats on her boyfriend. I’m supposed to be the perfect one – and perfect doesn’t include one-night stands with sworn enemies.  
  
This time, I can’t stop the tears that come trailing down my face, and they quickly morph into strangled sobs as I’m hit with wave upon wave of overpowering guilt, each one stronger than the one before.  
  
When I fall asleep, there’s a boy’s face behind my eyelids, and, much to my own dismay, it’s not my boyfriend’s.  
  
   
  


* * *

  
  
  
I sleep fitfully, leaving me with quite a lot to work with when I wake up Saturday morning. Even more so than earlier this week, my hair is unkempt, my skin pale, and the circles under my eyes are heavily pronounced. I try to fix it, but there’s just no amount of makeup that can conceal the dead look in my eyes.  
  
I throw Blaise’s T-shirt and boxers aside, replacing them with a simple purple dress and some black heels. I may look horrendous, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I have to dress that way as well.  
  
“Well, thanks for waking us up!” Scarlett says cheerily, bounding into the bathroom. Despite the fact that she just woke up, her blonde hair cascades smoothly down her back.  
  
“Sorry,” I reply, smoothing my dress in the mirror, “it completely slipped my mind.”  
  
“No problem, but now you have to wait on the rest of us,” Brooke says, slowly getting out of bed. “And, you have to wake Caroline.”  
  
Of all my friends, Caroline is the least pleasant in the morning. She enjoys throwing pillows at people who tried to wake her up too early – it’s a bit of a childish habit, but given that it’s first thing in the morning, I let it slide.  
  
“I’m already awake,” a voice grumbles from Caroline’s closed curtains. “How couldn’t I be, with you three making such a raucous?”  
  
“We’re not even that loud, Caroline,” Brooke points out, slipping into a pair of black and white patterned pants.  
  
“You are when it’s first thing in the morning!”  
  
Scarlett rolls her eyes playfully as she puts on her makeup. “It’s not even that early. It’s almost 10.”  
  
I look at the clock immediately – was it really already 10? I meant to go see Blaise first thing this morning and explain (or lie about, more accurately) why I left.  
  
There’s a brief amount of grumbling from Caroline’s bed, but she eventually pulls the curtains open and gets out of bed.  
  
Scarlett’s ready first, given that she’s far more energetic and therefore put-together a lot faster than Brooke and Caroline.  
  
She sits on the bed next to me, and looks at me briefly. “You look tired,” she comments.  
  
I shrug. “I didn’t go to bed until pretty late last night.”  
  
“Yeah, about that,” Brooke says from the other side of the room, using her wand as a curling iron for her auburn hair, “where were you last night? You weren’t in the dorm by the time we all went to sleep.”  
  
“I’m starting to worry about all your disappearances,” Caroline says jokingly, much more pleasant now that she’s gotten out of bed.  
  
I giggle softly, before replying, “I was with Blaise last night.”  
  
“Oooh,” Scarlett says, nudging me playfully with her shoulder. “You just can’t get enough of him now that you’ve started, can you?”  
  
I try not to think of my real motivation, of the stupid dark-haired boy that won’t leave my mind even when I’m with Blaise, and the massive waves of guilt I feel whenever I’m reminded of either of them.  
  
“Something like that,” I murmur, trying to pull off a soft smile that I’m pretty sure comes out more like a grimace.  
  
“Wait, but if you were with Blaise last night, why did you come back here?”  
  
The question is Brooke’s and even though I’ve rehearsed the answer in my head, I still hate the idea of saying it out loud.  
  
“I was feeling ill, and Blaise was sleeping so peacefully that I didn’t want to disturb him.”  
  
It’s yet another lie, and I feel like they’re never-ending these days.  
   
  


* * *

  
  
  
Sunday evening, Scarlett, Brooke, and Caroline are working in the Ravenclaw common room, and I escape to the library for some much-needed alone time.  
  
I’m about halfway through my Defence essay, when suddenly, someone is sitting across from me at the table.  
  
Potter, again.  
  
But instead of lapsing into our usual silence, he speaks.  
  
“So you had a nice little evening with Blaise, I hear?”  
  
“That’s none of your business, Potter,” I reply, trying to maintain a tone of civility despite the blood pounding in my ears.   
  
“Oh please,” he replies easily, although there’s definitely a hint of something else in his words. “The whole bloody school knows, and it’s not like you’re doing anything to dispel the rumours.”  
  
I let out a sigh, but don’t reply to his comment.  
  
“You do know that sleeping with him doesn’t cancel out sleeping with me, right?”  
  
The words hit me like a stray hex – sharp and completely unplanned for.  
  
I try to come up with an equally stinging reply, but the words hit too close to home. That’s exactly what I had tried to do, and it had failed.  
  
“I know,” I reply miserably. “Believe me, I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneak peek of chapter 9...
> 
> I place a hand on her shoulder, “Really Scarlett, you could do so much better than Weasley. I know he’s fit, but he’s got the personality of a 5-year-old and the brains to match. That’s not what you want in a man, is it?”
> 
> She chances a glance over at him. “I don’t think he’s like that. I bet if I got to know him better – “
> 
> I interrupt her. “Promise me you won’t, okay? For your sake and mine. If you started dating him, I’d have to hang around his screwball friends, and that might just kill me.”
> 
> She laughs at that. “Oh Godric, could you imagine? You and Potter, trying to make small talk while Fred and I snog in the background? That would be positively disastrous!”


	9. Complication #9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you let the truth fester inside, sometimes it just can’t help but come out.

October comes quickly, bringing with it a chill in the air and a fervent excitement for the upcoming Halloween bash held annually in the Room of Requirement.  
  
Finding a costume for Blaise and I is the simple part – we’ll go as James Dean and Audrey Hepburn, the epitome of classiness when it comes to Muggle celebrities.  
  
Finding the pieces of clothing required, however, is another story. It seems as though despite the trend of embracing Muggle fashion, not many owl order catalogues provide a wide selection of clothing, and I have to find the perfect black dress.  
  
I spend most of that first Sunday poring over magazines, taking up hours of what would otherwise be seen as valuable study time. As a result, I’m forced to hurriedly finish my Potions essay in the Ravenclaw common room late that night.  
  
“Hey, where have you been all day? I haven’t seen you at all,” a voice says, pulling me out of my work. I look up to find Blaise pulling up a chair and taking a seat next to me at the table.  
  
I sigh, brushing back the hair that has fallen out of my bun. “I’ve been working all day,” I reply. “I had to find our costumes for the Halloween party, and that took longer than anticipated, so I had to skip dinner so I could get started on this.”  
  
“Why does this essay matter that much?”  
  
I furrow my eyebrows at his question. “Because I kind of need to turn in assignments in order to pass Potions.”  
  
“You know that doesn’t even matter anyway,” he reminds me, gently rubbing my shoulder. “You don’t even have to take your NEWTs if you don’t want to.”  
  
I often forget that Blaise is already planning to take over his father’s position as a top executive at Gringott’s when he leaves Hogwarts, which, combined with my inheritance, would leave us extremely well off.  
  
As a result, I get the feeling that Blaise doesn’t want me working – if I don’t need to, why should I? According to him, that is. He expects me to play the role of a dutiful housewife, which is well enough, I suppose, but I can’t help but want something more than that.  
  
“I’m just trying to keep my options open,” I reply coolly, trying to go back to my essay, which really needs my attention considering it’s still at least 6 inches too short.  
  
“But you don’t need to, “ Blaise says persistently. “I’ve told you, you won’t have to work when we’re married. You can stay at home and do whatever you want – isn’t that what you’ve always wanted? That kind of freedom?”  
  
I’m too tired to have this argument now, so I tell him, “Yes, I suppose.”  
  
“Well good,” he replies, “I’m glad we’re on the same page. Now get some rest – you’ve been looking tired recently and I want to make sure you’re taking care of yourself.”  
  
From anyone else, I might take that as a sort of thinly-veiled insult, but coming from Blaise, I know he only has my best interest at heart. He’s genuinely concerned about me.  
  
“Okay then, I will. Just let me finish this essay,” I finally reply.  
  
He chuckles, before adding, “Always a persistent one, aren’t you?”  
  
I meet his eyes, smiling softly. “Don’t you know it.”  
  
That elicits another chuckle, as he replies, “Yes, I certainly do.”  
  
Then he kisses my cheek lightly before bidding me a good night and heading up the staircase towards the boys’ dormitory.   
  
I don’t deserve him. I honest-to-goodness, truly don’t deserve a guy like him.  
  
Especially with what I’ve done.  
  
I try to push the thought out of my head, but it nags at me consistently, as I finish off my essay and even as I crawl into bed, trying to fend off the impending guilt that inevitably comes whenever my head hits the pillow and my mind wanders.  
  
And, as usual, my attempts to do so fail.  
  
   
  


* * *

  
  
  
The next morning, the Great Hall is already bustling and full of students by the time the four of us arrive.  
  
I pour my coffee and set a muffin on my plate, before noticing that Scarlett has a strange, dreamy look in her eye. That can never mean good things – that look is usually only associated with the one and only abominable Fred Weasley.  
  
I nudge her, and she suddenly snaps out of her state. “What are you looking at?” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.  
  
She sighs in a way that signals a dangerous level of infatuation. “I was thinking about asking Fred to the next Hogsmeade date.”  
  
I roll my eyes. She’d dropped the topic for so long – it had been almost six months since she’d last thought about asking him out or flat-out snogging him at a party – so why was she bringing it back up again?  
  
I look over at the object of her affection, who is currently attempting to balance a spoon on his nose like some kind of circus animal.  
  
I sigh – of all things, this is what my best friend is attracted to?  
  
The three boys around Weasley are all laughing at his antics, even though there’s really nothing remotely funny about a 17-year-old behaving like a toddler. Context, I guess.  
  
It’s strange though, how Potter can be such a serious and studious person when he’s with me in the library, but so loud and boisterous here in the Great Hall – it’s almost like he’s two different people.  
  
As if on cue, his eyes lock with mine for a moment, and I catch the bright sparkle in his eyes, matching the look he had when he was bringing me to the Shrieking Shack, excited and playful.  
  
No. No, no, no.  
  
Why, of all times, for me to think of that again, did I choose right now, in the middle of the Great Hall?  
  
I quickly look away from the Gryffindor table, and back at Scarlett, hoping she can’t catch the blush that’s filling my cheeks.  
  
“Really, Scarlett? You’re attracted to that buffoon?”  
  
She starts to play with her hair. “I – I don’t know, I guess I find it kind of endearing. He’s just… playful.”  
  
I place a hand on her shoulder, “Really Scarlett, you could do so much better than Weasley. I know he’s fit, but he’s got the personality of a 5-year-old and the brains to match. That’s not what you want in a man, is it?”  
  
She chances a glance over at him. “I don’t think he’s like that. I bet if I got to know him better – “  
  
I interrupt her. “Promise me you won’t, okay? For your sake and mine. If you started dating him, I’d have to hang around his screwball friends, and that might just kill me.”  
  
She laughs at that. “Oh Godric, could you imagine? You and Potter, trying to make small talk while Fred and I snog in the background? That would be positively disastrous!”  
  
She bursts into peals of laughter as Brooke and Caroline look at us curiously, and I follow suit, although mine’s much more forced. Because although yes, technically to most people, Potter and I would never be able to handle a civil conversation with one another, that’s what we’d been doing for the past month, really.  
  
It wasn’t much actual conversation, more of a peaceful silence, but still, it unsettled me to be reminded that Potter and I, despite our very obvious differences and long history of dislike, were getting along.  
  
It wasn’t normal, but at the same time, I was powerless to stop it.  
  
   
  


* * *

  
  
  
When I arrive at my table in the library, Potter’s already sitting there, brow furrowed as he reads from multiple textbooks and jots random sentences down on what looks like an essay.  
  
I sit down across from him, and he looks up for only long enough to recognize me, before he goes back to work, ruffling a hand through his hair in what seems like frustration.  
  
I pull out my books and get to work, and we settle into the comfortable silence that we always do.  
  
Until, fifteen minutes later, when Potter lets out a long, aggravated sigh.  
  
I’ve noticed he’s been particularly twitchy today, so at this, my curiosity gets the better of me.  
  
“What are you working on that’s causing you so much frustration?” I ask, setting down my quill.  
  
“This damn Defense essay,” he mutters, putting his head in his hands.  
  
It’s the same essay I was working on the last time we shared this table – analyzing the properties that make certain Dark magic immune to Shield Charms. Not particularly complicated stuff, at least to me.  
  
“Do you want some help?” I offer gently.  
  
He sighs. “No offense, but would you really even be all that much help?”  
  
I should be offended, but surprisingly, I’m not. “Well, I was one of three students in our year to get an O on my Defense O.W.L., so I think I know my stuff.”  
  
He looks up at me, shocked for a moment, before muttering something along the lines of, “Of course.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Just – never mind,” he replies, a hint of resignation in his voice. “Sure, I could use some help.”  
  
So that’s what I do; for the next half hour or so, Potter asks me questions and I do my best to answer them, using material from the text to show him what I’m talking about.  
  
As Potter’s finishes off the last word of his essay, he looks up at me. “Thanks,” he says, “you know, for that. Godric knows I’m miserable at Defense.”  
  
For a moment, I’m struck by the irony: the son of the man who defeated Voldemort is struggling in N.E.W.T.-level Defense Against the Dark Arts. I choose not to mention it.  
  
“Well,” I reply, “I sort of owe you. For, you know, keeping a secret that could pretty much destroy me.”  
  
“If it hasn’t already,” I add to myself as an afterthought.  
  
“What do you mean by that?” Potter’s got an inquisitive look on his face, and I realize that he’s heard my last comment.  
  
I briefly think about brushing him off, but then I realize I really have nothing else to lose. He already knows everything, after all.  
  
“It’s just – I swear I’m being eaten alive by guilt.” Now it’s my turn to put my head in my hands. “I mean, I cheated on my boyfriend of five years by giving my virginity to someone else in a drunken one-night stand. I mean, who does that?”  
  
I look up from my hands, quickly snapping, “And I swear, Potter, if you say ‘you, Winchester,’ I will hex you into next week.”  
  
He chuckles at that, but quickly returns to his serious state. He takes a moment, before replying, “I don’t know if you should really be feeling that guilty.”  
  
I sigh – maybe this was the wrong person to confess all of this to, after all. “Look, I know you don’t like Blaise all that much – I mean, he’s not really the type of guy you’d get along with – but regardless, he still doesn’t deserve to be cheated on. Nobody does.”  
  
“Isn’t that the truth,” he says back, but when I look up into his face, he has a strange look in his eye. “All I’m saying, Winchester, is that there’s always more going on than you might think, and sometimes you need to look at the bigger picture and reevaluate your guilt relative to what’s around you.”  
  
And with that cryptic message, he’s gone, leaving me in the library alone, confused, and with half a Charms essay to finish writing.  
  
   
  


* * *

  
  
  
I eat dinner with Blaise, and we go up to his dormitory afterwards.  
  
We start snogging on his bed, and he takes my shirt off, which is fine. His own shirt is completely unbuttoned, revealing his toned chest, so I’d be bit of a hypocrite to protest when he does the same to me. But then, he reaches for the zipper on my skirt, and I draw the line.  
  
“Blaise, no,” I say, pulling my mouth from his lips, breathing hard. “Not tonight.”  
  
“But why not?” he replies, his face only a few inches from mine. “The room’s empty and we could both use a break from everything.”  
  
With that, he starts peppering kisses down my neck, sending shivers down my spine.   
  
I fight through the temptation, and push myself up and away from him. “I said, not tonight.”  
  
He sighs, sitting up and flattening his hair. “Fine, okay, that’s fine. We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”  
  
I feel a rush of gratitude, thankful that he’s respecting my boundaries, even if they have no real reasoning besides ‘I just don’t want to.’  
  
“Thank you,” I say, pulling my shirt off the floor and quickly doing up the buttons.  
  
“Anytime, love,” he replies, making his way over to me. “I wouldn’t want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.”  
  
I kiss him goodnight, and make my way from the boys’ dormitory to the girls’.  
  
When I enter the room, Scarlett, Brooke, and Caroline are already in there. Caroline’s doing homework, as usual, Brooke’s painting her nails, and Scarlett’s reading a letter of some sort.  
  
Looking up at my arrival, Brooke is quick to chirp out, “Well, someone’s just come back from a nice long snog – or probably a shag, now that I think about it.”  
  
I crack a smile, “It was just a snog, but yeah, I just left Blaise’s room. How could you tell?”  
  
“Well,” Caroline chimes in, looking up from her book, “your hair is a mess and your shirt is buttoned wrong.”  
  
I look down at my shirt and, sure enough, the buttons are all one off, leaving the whole shirt a crooked mess. “Oops,” I mutter, as a bit of pink colors my cheeks. It’s the type of blush that’s entirely controlled, unlike so many of my others.  
  
They all start laughing, and I quickly replace the crooked shirt and uniform skirt with a silk nightgown, and flop into my bed dramatically.  
  
“Tell me, Abigail, where have you been all this time recently?” Scarlett says, looking over at me. “I feel like you keep disappearing all the time, more often than usual.”  
  
They’re used to me spending some time alone – I need complete silence when I’m studying, something the other three girls don’t fully understand.  
  
“I’m still hiding out studying, like I always am,” I reply easily. “It’s just N.E.W.T. year, so that studying just takes even more time.”  
  
“Well spend a bit more time with us,” Brooke adds good-naturedly. “We’re starting to think you’ve abandoned us and found a new set of friends to hang out with, and a man on the side to match!”  
  
I laugh along with them, but my blood runs cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneak peek of chapter 10...
> 
> For what is definitely not the first time, the thought occurs to me that I could have basically ruined my entire future with this one rash action.
> 
> So in that moment, I make a split-second decision. I’ll take James’ somewhat-cryptic advice: I won’t think about that mistake anymore, and I won’t let it affect me.
> 
> “I love you too,” I respond, leaning towards him so that our foreheads touch.
> 
> And with those four words, he’s kissing me like there’s no tomorrow.


	10. Complication #10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing stays a secret forever.

The following week, I make a concerted effort to spend much more time with the Royals. I hate to admit it to myself, but Brooke’s words scared me.  
  
This year, and everything that’s happened, has changed me, and that terrifies me.  
  
I miss when things weren’t so complicated, when Potter and I couldn’t be in the same room as each other, when I didn’t feel massive waves of guilt anytime Blaise kissed me, and when I wasn’t terrified that someone would find out what I’m hiding. Because back then, there wasn’t anything to hide.  
  
But wishing for a return to the past wouldn’t make it happen. Instead, I focus on a new goal: making everything seem as normal as possible.  
  
I spend significantly more time with the Royals, even if that means sacrificing some of my quiet study time in the library and writing essays in the dormitory, amongst the loud chatter of Brooke and Caroline debating which color nail polish would best complement their skin tones.  
  
It was a bit ridiculous, since I could have told them in 30 seconds that Brooke would look best in a light pink and Caroline in a dark green.   
  
“Hey Abigail, have you done that Charms essay yet?” I look to my right, where Scarlett is sitting on her bed with two books and a nearly covered parchment.  
  
I think of the 15-inch assignment on the theory of nonverbal charms, and reply, “Yeah, I finished it yesterday.”  
  
“Could you look over mine? I still need 2 more inches and I don’t know what to add.”  
  
“Sure,” I reply, remembering another reason why I typically avoid studying in the dormitory: it always results in me proofreading essays.  
  
“Could you look over mine too while you’re at it? I feel like I missed something important.” I look over to Caroline, who has temporarily abandoned her nail polish debate and is looking at me with wide, pleading eyes.   
  
I think of our conversation the night of the party, and tell her, “Okay.” Suddenly, I have two papers stacked on top of mine, with the expectation that I’ll know the material better than they do.  
  
It’s not that the other Royals aren’t smart, because they really are – how else would we have all been placed into Ravenclaw, after all? They just doubt their own abilities a lot; Scarlett was convinced for half of the summer after fifth year that she had earned a D on her Transfiguration O.W.L., when really she had gotten an E.  
  
I briefly scan their papers, making only a few small edits.  
  
“Add something on why nonverbal charms are important in real-life situations,” I say, sending Scarlett’s parchment flying back towards her with a flick of my wand.  
  
“Why, so you can do unnecessarily showoff-y things like that?” she replies, laughing as her essay lands in front of her. “You’re right, nonverbal charms are crucial.”  
  
I feel like Scarlett’s voice has a bit of an edge to it, beyond her usual teasing, but I ignore it as best I can. Instead, I giggle and return to my copy of  _Advanced Potion Making_ , my eyes settling on the heading for “Hiccoughing Solution.”   
  
It’s a relatively uneventful evening, with the exception of Caroline spilling dark green nail polish everywhere and requiring at least three different cleaning spells to get the lacquer off of everything.  
  
   
  


* * *

  
  
  
Staying with the other Royals even more than usual means I have to take specific measures to avoid Potter and his knowing glances. I’m not entirely sure how, but I swear I see him significantly more this year than I ever have within the past six.   
  
Whenever I pass him in the hallways, I turn to Scarlett or Caroline or Brooke to make some sort of offhanded comment about the lesson we just left, or Rose Weasley’s dreadfully mismatched socks.  
  
I can feel his eyes on me each time, but I make no intention of returning his gaze.  
  
It’s amazing how much simpler my life is without having to deal with him at all.  
  
   
  


* * *

  
  
  
When I disappear to the library for a few free hours of study time on Saturday morning, I’m a bit surprised to find Potter still sitting at our normal table.  
  
 _Our_  normal table? Oh Godric, what has happened to me? This table is  _mine_ , he’s merely an intruder on  _my_ space.  
  
As I’m holding this monologue inside my head, Potter notices me and looks up from the parchment he’s been scribbling on furiously.  
  
“Well, well, well, look who’s finally decided to make an appearance,” he says, smirking slightly and running his free hand through his hair. “I was beginning to think you’d accidentally cast a Permanent Sticking Charm on yourself and your little friends.”  
  
I roll my eyes. “I’m not obliged to study here or hang out with you, Potter.”  
  
He raises his eyebrows at that. “You’re right, you’re not. But you came here even before I claimed this spot, so yeah, you not being here is kind of strange. I was beginning to think I’d finally successfully scared you off.”  
  
I drop my bag on the table and give him a look. “Please,” I say, “don’t flatter yourself. You’re not intimidating, Potter.”  
  
“Are you sure about that?” he replies. “Because every time you’ve so much as looked at me this week you’ve fled in the other direction.”   
  
I feel a flush creep onto my cheeks as I sit down. “That’s not related to you at all, Potter.”  
  
“Sure it isn’t.”  
  
I start pulling my things out and laying them on the table. “Merlin, so egotistical,” I mutter under my breath.  
  
At this, he sets his quill down and gives me a withering glare. “Right, so you’re going to act like you practically running for the Forbidden Forest every time you so much as look at me  _doesn’t_ have anything to do with the fact that we hooked up and now you’re trying overly hard to act like everything’s entirely normal to make sure no one suspects anything?”  
  
I abruptly drop the parchment I was pulling out. His spot-on analysis is almost infuriating.  
  
“I knew it,” he says, smirking to himself.  
  
I let out an annoyed huff and angrily open my Defence textbook, completely aware that I’m acting like the spoiled twat Potter always accuses me of being but completely unable to control it.  
  
We work in silence for a few minutes, until James clears his throat. I look up at him, and he’s got an inscrutable look in his eyes.  
  
“You know,” he starts, “you’ve really got to stop beating yourself up about this. You made a mistake, yeah, but dwelling on it won’t make anything better. You’re stressing about it, and it’s written all over your face. You’ll have a much better chance of keeping it a secret if you don’t walk around looking like you accidentally murdered someone all the time.”  
  
And with that, he’s grabbing all his books and leaving me alone at the table, hopelessly confused by his words for the second time this week.  
  
   
  


* * *

  
  
  
After lunch, Blaise and I go for a walk around the grounds. The October air is still warm enough that lingering outside isn’t miserable, so we decide to make the most of it.  
  
We hold hands as we walk, our arms swinging between us in the most natural way possible. Everything with Blaise always feels  _right_ – there’s no questioning or uncertainty of motives, just two people who have been together for so long that everything feels like second nature.  
  
As we’re walking, Blaise stops suddenly. At this, I turn around and look at him.  
  
He’s looking directly into my eyes – the kind of direct eye contact that makes me want to run away. And then I find myself criticizing that thought, because when have I ever wanted to run away from him before?  
  
“Abigail, I just want you to know something,” Blaise says, grabbing my other hand so that we’re fully facing one another.  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“I just want you to know how much you mean to me. You’re the most wonderful girlfriend I could ask for, and I’m so grateful that you’re always there for me. Hell, I could trust you with my life.” He breaks out into a wry smile, never looking away from me.  
  
I try not to physically squirm at the comment. Instead, I take a step forward to close the gap between us.  
  
“I’m glad you feel that way.” I mentally berate myself as the words come out – what kind of response is that? It was far too formal for the fact that my boyfriend was professing deep feelings for me.  
  
Blaise doesn’t seem to take notice of the odd phrasing. “I love you,” he murmurs, reaching a hand up to brush my cheek.  
  
If there was ever a time where I felt as though my heart had literally stopped, this was it. Here I am, with an amazing and dedicated boyfriend who has just verbally told me he  _loves me_ for the first time, and I’m feeling like a complete scumbag. Normally, I’d never describe myself in such terms, but there’s no better way to identify this feeling.  
  
I mean, how could I have cheated on someone this wonderful? As much as I wanted to blame alcohol for my behavior, I couldn’t do so entirely. Drunk actions are sober thoughts, or something like that. And I couldn’t deny that there was some part of me that was still so angry about him ditching me the night before coming to Hogwarts that I had somehow justified sleeping with another man.  
  
For what is definitely not the first time, the thought occurs to me that I could have basically ruined my entire future with this one rash action.  
  
So in that moment, I make a split-second decision. I’ll take James’ somewhat-cryptic advice: I won’t think about that mistake anymore, and I won’t let it affect me.  
  
“I love you too,” I respond, leaning towards him so that our foreheads touch.  
  
And with those four words, he’s kissing me like there’s no tomorrow.  
  
That is, until we realize that some first-years are also wandering the grounds and that we’re making a scene. He grabs my hand with a smile and we head back into the castle.  
  
   
  


* * *

  
  
  
Turns out, taking James’ advice was much easier said than done. Try as I might to give myself a clean slate, I couldn’t help but run Blaise’s words through my head on repeat all evening.  
  
 _“Hell, I’d trust you with my life.”_  
  
Well, he also trusted me to be a faithful girlfriend, and look how well that turned out. Trusting me with his life would likely have disastrous consequences at this rate.  
  
I remind myself that it was a one-off mistake – I’m not having an affair or continuing to do anything that might jeopardize our relationship. This isn’t a big deal.  
  
Still, he tells me he loves me and this is how I reward him? By keeping this terrible secret from him?  
  
But at the same time, I could never tell him what happened. I know Blaise well enough to know that he isn’t the type to give second chances – if he finds out about this, our relationship is over. Five years of commitment, down the drain.  
  
I feel an all-too-familiar prickle behind my eyes; instead of giving in to the emotion, I climb into bed and bury my face in the pillow.  
  
   
  


* * *

  
  
  
After a miserable night’s sleep, I drag myself to the library at around noon to get some revision done.  
  
Half of me expects Potter to be sitting there when I arrive at my usual table, but it’s empty. I realize that I’m slightly disappointed by this discovery, and immediately hate that feeling of disappointment.  
  
Potter and I weren’t friends. We were two people who despised each other, made a dumb mistake together, and now had some eerie peace agreement as a result of said dumb mistake. I had no reason to desire his presence, especially when this table has always been my escape from any human interaction whatsoever.  
  
I mask this feeling by enjoying the luxury of spreading my materials across the entire table. It’s excessive, since I’m only working on one subject at a time, but it makes me feel better.  
  
A few hours later, I feel satisfied with my progress. Since it’s awfully close to dinnertime, I decide to head back to the Ravenclaw common room where I can hopefully find the rest of the Royals to walk to the Great Hall with.  
  
I arrive at the Ravenclaw house entrance and give the knocker an answer to its incredibly simple riddle of the day. I can hear the chatter of the students in the common room as I enter, and the sound is oddly calming as I enter the room.  
  
So naturally, the last thing that I’m expecting is for the room to go completely silent when I walk in.  
  
In the middle of the common room, a figure stands up from one of the couches.   
  
It’s Blaise. He gives me a look that I can’t quite place.  
  
“Oh look, it’s Hogwarts’ biggest slag.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Aaaand here we have the chapter that took me over four years to write. Arguably the longest bout of writer's block ever experienced, lol.
> 
>  
> 
> Sneak peek of chapter 11...
> 
> As I watch the words tumble out of my boyfriend’s mouth, I find myself immediately frozen in place. All the air is immediately sucked out of my lungs, and my heart starts to pound in my ears.
> 
> No, no, no. This can’t be happening. It can’t.
> 
> Blaise takes a step towards me, and I finally recognize the look on his face: disgust.


	11. Complication #11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The people you always turn to just might turn on you.

“Oh look, it’s Hogwarts’ biggest slag.”  
  
As I watch the words tumble out of my boyfriend’s mouth, I find myself immediately frozen in place. All the air is immediately sucked out of my lungs, and my heart starts to pound in my ears.  
  
No, no, no. This can’t be happening. It  _can’t_.  
  
Blaise takes a step towards me, and I finally recognize the look on his face: disgust.  
  
“I can’t believe you. I can’t believe you’d do something like this, that you’d hurt me like this. You slept with  _James bloody Potter_ , who I’m pretty sure you’ve told me you hated for all of these years.”  
  
I feel every eye in the common room directed at me – including Scarlett, Caroline, and Brooke, who are all looking at me with the same expression as the one Blaise is wearing. But something prevents me from getting any words out or even moving an inch, like I’ve been hit with a  _Silencio_  charm and  _Petrificus Totalus_  all at once.  
  
“Not to mention that you slept with that wanker before you even slept with me! I waited for you – much longer than I would’ve liked to, might I add – only for you to turn around and fuck the first dude you laid eyes on, as if a five-year relationship meant nothing to you!”   
  
“You-you lied to us?” a voice pipes up from the couches. It’s Caroline, whose expression has shifted from something of disgust to something of hurt and betrayal. She’s pieced together from Blaise’s comments that this means I lied to them on the train.  
  
Her comment allows me to find my voice again. “Not exactly,” I choke out, before turning back to Blaise. “It’s not what you think.”  
  
“Oh, so you didn’t ‘cheat on your boyfriend of five years by giving your virginity to someone else in a one-night stand’? You’re right, that’s ridiculous,  _who does that_?”  
  
His use of air quotes makes me realize that he’s spitting my own words back to me, verbatim. My mouth falls open, but no words come out.  
  
“Yeah, I asked Scarlett to go find you in the library, and instead she found you and Potter having a jolly old conversation about that one time you were a cheating bitch. I’m honestly just grateful she told me, because you clearly never would’ve. And who knows how long it’s been going on for?”  
  
“Blaise, it was one time,” I quickly correct. “I regret it so much and I am so, so sorry. I love you.”  
  
He snorts. “I haven’t even gotten to the best part. If my timeline is correct, this means you slept with Potter and then decided to come around and sleep with me approximately a week later? Do you realize just how fucked up that is?”  
  
“It was a mistake,” I find words falling from my mouth before I can stop them. “I thought it would make things better, and I’m really sorry for that, Blaise, you have to believe me.”  
  
“The only thing I believe anymore is that you’re a dirty, lying slag, and I don’t want anything to do with you.”  
  
The words come out with such viciousness that I almost buckle at the knees. I find myself falling apart in public – doing the one thing I never let myself do. “Blaise, no, I love you so much and I’m so sorry and – “  
  
“I don’t want to hear it. And frankly, I don’t think any of your friends want to hear your shite explanations either. You slut.”  
  
He turns on his heel to go up to his dormitory, and I look over towards the Royals to discover that they’ve linked arms with one another and are walking up the stairs, without so much as a backwards glance at me.  
  
I’m left with a common room full of housemates, all watching to see what I do next.  
  
So I do the most logical thing I can think to do: I turn and run.  
  
   
  


* * *

  
  
  
I’m not quite sure where I’m running to – I just know I need to get out of that common room. In the span of five minutes, I’ve somehow lost both my boyfriend and my best friends. As the realization hits me, I know I’m bound to fully break down any moment now; it’s just a matter of when. I’m basically a ticking time bomb at this point.  
  
My priority automatically becomes finding somewhere that no one else will find me, where I can deal with the inevitable outpour of emotion in peace.  
  
I’m staring intently at my feet as I rush down the stairs, and as a result, I’m not looking at where I’m going. As fate would have it, this results in me crashing into someone.   
  
“Shit, sorry,” a familiar voice says. Oh joy, the  _last person_ I want to see right now. Unfortunately, this particular area of the staircase is too narrow for me to brush past Potter without him backing up. So I’m forced to linger long enough for him to get a reasonable look at me.  
  
“Merlin, Winchester, are you okay?”    
  
I open my mouth to snap back at him.  _Of course,_  I’m totally fine; I have no friends and no boyfriend to speak of anymore, but other than that, I’m right as rain.  
  
Instead, the time bomb goes off. A strangled sob escapes my throat and I wrap my arms around myself, as if somehow the physical action is capable of keeping the emotions at bay.  
  
“They all know. And they all hate me,” I force out, as the first few tears finally break loose and start sliding down my cheeks.  
  
“Fuck,” Potter responds. And then he reaches out and puts his hand on my shoulder, a small but comforting gesture.   
  
I’m not sure what makes me do it – maybe it’s the fact that this tiny gesture is the nicest thing that’s happened to me today – but I find myself taking a half step forward so that my face is buried in his chest and letting myself dissolve in the sadness I’ve been attempting to hold back.   
  
The move throws Potter off for a brief moment, but within seconds he’s got his arms around me and is rubbing soothing circles into my back.  
  
I don’t know how long we stay like that, but eventually he leans down and says, “Let’s move this somewhere else. People are about to start heading down to dinner and I take it you don’t want anyone seeing you like this."   
  
I hiccough my agreement, so he begins to guide me to an empty corridor, where he pulls back a tapestry to reveal a hidden set of stairs.  
  
“You just know all sorts of secret passageways, don’t you?” I say, attempting to sound snarky but having the effect ruined by the raspy quality my voice has taken on.  
  
“All sorts,” Potter responds. “Although this one doesn’t lead to the Shrieking Shack, I promise.”  
  
An odd laugh/sob escapes my throat at that comment. “Good,” I finally reply.  
  
At the bottom of the stairs, I notice that we’re awfully close to the Hufflepuff common room. But instead of walking in that direction, Potter walks determinedly up to a painting of fruit, immediately reaching towards the pear. Before I have a chance to judge that action, the painting swings open.  
  
Inside is an unexpected sight. I see an extensive line-up of house elves, all fervently preparing food for dinner in the Great Hall. This work ethic doesn’t stop one from looking up at the open door and immediately rushing over.  
  
“Mister Potter! What can Bitsy do for you?”   
  
“Could you get me two cups of your special hot chocolate, Bitsy? I’d really appreciate it.” Potter talks to the house elf as if this is something he does on a daily basis.  
  
In what seems like a matter of seconds, Bitsy is handing Potter two mugs with an excessive amount of whipped cream. Potter turns to me, where I’m still standing outside the kitchen, and gestures his head to the left.  
  
I walk numbly in that direction. Eventually Potter takes the lead, his strides being much longer than mine. He turns down another empty hallway, at which point he hands me a mug and sits down on the floor, his back against the wall.  
  
He looks up at me, and I realize that he’s expecting me to sit next to him. So I do, and I put the warm mug to my lips.  
  
It’s comforting and cinnamon-y, and I find myself making an involuntary noise of appreciation.  
  
After a few minutes of silence, Potter asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”   
  
I pull my knees into my chest and will myself not to cry again. “I don’t know what there is to say. Scarlett overheard something I said to you in the library, and was apparently so upset that I had lied to them that she told Blaise as well. And he basically cornered me in the common room to tell me that we were over.”  
  
“Bloody hell, he couldn’t have picked a more private place?”  
  
I find myself defending Blaise. “He was hurt, and I guess the common room was just the first time he’d seen me all day. I think he just wanted to get it off his chest immediately.”  
  
“So he just stands up in the middle of the common room and breaks up with you instead of, I don’t know, heading off to a nearby classroom?”  
  
“I think his emotions just took hold. I’ve never seen him look the way that he did, and I’ve certainly never heard him talk the way that he did.”  
  
“Which was?”   
  
I sigh, as a tear betrays me by sliding down my cheek. “He just… he called me a slag and a slut and a few other not-so-nice things. Not that it’s not true, but it just wasn’t something I expected him to say. It was a complete reverse of his normal behavior.”  
  
“Bloody hypocrite,” James mutters, almost under his breath. Returning to normal volume again, he adds, “That doesn’t give him the right to talk to you like that. And not to mention that sleeping with two people doesn’t make someone a slag. I mean, look at Freddy. Yeah, he has his fair share of hook-ups, but that doesn’t make him a manwhore.”  
  
I think back to that day in the Leaky Cauldron when I called Weasley out on that same behavior. “How the tables have turned,” I respond wryly.   
  
“I’m sorry for that comment,” I add. “I’m certainly not in a place to judge anyone for their life choices at this point.”  
  
“Oh, I’m sure Freddy wasn’t too bothered by it,” James replies easily. He notices my empty mug. “I take it you enjoyed the hot chocolate then?”   
  
“Yeah.” And then I find myself blurting out, “How do you know about all this stuff anyways?”  
  
“Oh, well, my year of Gryffindors have all basically known about the kitchens since first year, so – ”  
  
“No,” I clarify, “how do you know how to do this whole dealing with an overly emotional girl thing so well? Most guys freak out at that kind of stuff and run the other direction. Not to mention, you don’t really like me that much.”  
  
“Ah, well, you see, I’ve had a ton of practice. My darling sister, Lily, likes to regularly fall for a new boy, despite my insistence that all boys her age are terrible. And she gets attached pretty easily, which means regular heartbreaks. And as her big brother, I feel obligated to make her feel better. So this is the routine.”  
  
“That’s… really sweet of you. She’s lucky to have someone like you around.”  
  
He shrugs. “It’s just typical big brother stuff, I guess. And to get back to your comment about not liking you that much, it’s not so much that I dislike you as it is I dislike the way that you treat people. You’ve got this air of superiority – like everyone else deserves to bow down to you and kiss the ground you walk on. But when you let that wall down, you’re not so bad.”  
  
“Er, thanks, I guess, Potter,” I respond, unsure of the proper reaction to his statement. To be fair, I feel the same about him; he’s a right arse in public but isn’t unbearable on his own.  
  
“James.”  
  
I look over at him. “What?”  
  
“Call me James,” he clarifies. “I feel like the fact that I’ve just witnessed what I’m pretty sure is your one and only public emotional breakdown puts us on first-name basis.”  
  
I feel a sad smile make its way onto my face. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense. So thanks, James. For all of this.”  
  
“You’re welcome, Abigail.”  
  
We lapse into silence, and sit there, a few inches apart, for the next two hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneak peek of chapter 12...
> 
> “Does Miss not want to eat in the Great Hall? I can make a seat for Miss here instead!”
> 
> “I, er, yeah,” I reply lamely. Explaining my current situation to a house elf seems odd. “A seat here would be nice.”
> 
> Bitsy snaps her fingers and a table and chair appear in the kitchen. She then scurries off to rejoin the ranks of the dutifully cooking house elves.
> 
> As I start to eat a piece of toast, surrounded by only house elves who are otherwise occupied, I recognize that this is definitely a low point in my Hogwarts experience.


	12. Complication #12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being alone leaves you incredibly vulnerable.

When I first open my eyes the next morning, it takes a few moments for the gravity of last night’s dramatics to register.   
  
Blaise knows. Blaise called me out on it, in front of everyone. And I’m not even sure if my friends are still friends with me.  
  
The thought makes me want to vomit.  
  
I lie in bed for a few extra minutes, until I start to hear movements on the other side of my curtains. True to character, Scarlett jumps on Brooke’s and Caroline’s beds to wake them up, one at a time.  
  
As the other Royals wake up and start to chat among themselves, I realize that there’s absolutely no way that I can get up and start getting ready without seeing them.  
  
A part of me desperately wants to know where we stand – if their disappearance last night really means what I think it means, but another part of me wants to delay figuring that out for as long as possible. I think it’s because a part of me already knows the answer.  
  
After a few minutes of mentally psyching myself up, I finally open my curtains and get out of bed.   
  
The room goes silent, but Scarlett, Brooke, and Caroline all continue on getting ready without looking over at me.  
  
I muster up some courage. “Girls? I’m really sorry about last night.”  
  
It’s Brooke who turns her head back to me. “Oh, save it. You hooked up with the enemy and lied to us about it.”  
  
“I was just trying to do what I thought was best,” I respond, taken aback by her coldness. “For myself and for the Royals.”  
  
“What was best for the Royals was for you to tell us the truth,” Caroline joins in.  
  
“Or for you not to have gotten drunk and slept with Potter to begin with,” adds Scarlett, pulling her school bag onto her shoulder. “I thought you had better morals than that.”  
  
“We’ll be heading down to breakfast now.” Brooke’s rejoined the conversation. “And don’t sit with us – the Royals have enough damage control to do without you complicating things even more.”  
  
All three girls exit the room before I have a chance to collect myself and respond.  
  
I’m struck by how cold my friends – or former friends at this point, I suppose – are behaving. It’s just like with Blaise last night, a sinister side coming out that I’d never noticed before.  
  
I mean yes, we’d all been mean to people in the past, but never to each other. There had always been an unspoken agreement that we would never be the targets of each other’s ice-queen behavior. It seems that unspoken agreement now ceased to exist.   
  
I attempt to get ready for the day as if nothing is wrong; I curl my hair, put on makeup, and ensure that my uniform looks perfect.  
  
Ha, a perfect uniform – that’s about the only "perfect" thing I’ve got going for me right about now.  
  
I grab my school bag off the floor and pause for a moment before heading out the door. I quickly realize that I have absolutely no idea where I’m headed off to.   
  
While I may have been able to muster up the courage to confront the Royals, I certainly wasn’t brave enough to confront the entire Great Hall – not to mention I had no idea where I’d sit. Scarlett, Brooke, Caroline, and Blaise were the only people I’d ever sat with at mealtimes.  
  
I decide to recreate my route from last night; surely the house elves would be willing to give me some sort of breakfast, given how willing they were to offer James hot chocolate last night.   
  
As I walk towards the kitchens, I find myself musing on how odd it is that switching to a first name basis with James was nowhere near as difficult as I’d expected it to be.   
  
Perhaps it’s because he seems to be a totally different person in one-on-one scenarios than he is in front of the entire Hogwarts population. The guy who pulls ridiculous pranks and makes loud and inappropriate comments is one person, but the guy who sits at my table in the library and who comforted me last night is a totally different one.  
  
I reflect on the fact that James basically made the same comment about me. Perhaps, in a twisted way, we’re not as different as we seem.  
  
When I find the large painting of a bowl of fruit, I try to stroke the pear the way I saw James do it last night. To my dismay, nothing budges.  
  
“You’ve got to tickle it, darling.”  
  
I look towards the sound, discovering that the voice has come from a knight in a nearby painting.  
  
“Ah, okay,” I reply awkwardly. “Thanks.”  
  
I tickle the pear instead of just brushing my fingers over it, and the door swings open.  
  
The same house elf that spoke to James last night, Bitsy, immediately comes bustling forward.  
  
“Miss? Can Bitsy help you?” Bitsy squeaks out.  
  
I find myself smiling at the sweet elf – surprising given how little I feel like smiling right about now. “Can I just get some breakfast please?”  
  
“I can do that!” And within seconds, Bitsy has returned with a plate loaded with a full English breakfast.  
  
“Does Miss not want to eat in the Great Hall? I can make a seat for Miss here instead!”  
  
“I, er, yeah,” I reply lamely. Explaining my current situation to a house elf seems odd. “A seat here would be nice.”  
  
Bitsy snaps her fingers and a table and chair appear in the kitchen. She then scurries off to rejoin the ranks of the dutifully cooking house elves.  
  
As I start to eat a piece of toast, surrounded by only house elves who are otherwise occupied, I recognize that this is definitely a low point in my Hogwarts experience.  
  
   
  


* * *

  
  
  
I refuse to be one of those people who skips class due to personal tragedy, so I end up walking into Defence at the last possible minute.   
  
As soon as I walk into the room, I am immediately faced with another dilemma. I have no idea where to sit.   
  
My usual seat, next to Scarlett, is now occupied by Blaise. And while neither of them are currently looking at me, about half of the class is.  
  
I feel my cheeks burn, and immediately drop into the only available seat in the classroom. The person sitting next to me is a Hufflepuff whose name I can’t quite remember, and I can feel his alarmed glance as he notices that I’m sitting next to him.  
  
While Defence is usually a subject I adore, I find it difficult to focus today. I can’t help but get distracted every time I notice someone looking back at my table – there’s no doubt that they’re discussing the news of last night’s revelation, or some version of it that’s gotten twisted as it spreads through the grapevine.  
  
I’ve never run out of a classroom as fast as I do when Defence ends.   
  
   
  


* * *

  
  
  
It’s a strange sensation to go from feeling like you own the school to not knowing your place in it.    
  
I desperately need to do some reading for Transfiguration, but have nowhere to study. My dormitory is definitely not an option, ditto for the common room, and I’m not really ready to interact with James again just yet, so the library is out as well.   
  
So instead, I decide to seek out an empty classroom, where I can at least be guaranteed some peace and quiet.    
  
When I find one, I open the door gingerly, to ensure that no one else is in there.  
  
It’s a good thing I do this, because the room is in fact occupied. By two people, who are passionately snogging.  
  
I don’t look at them for long, but it’s long enough to place exactly who both of these people are: Dominique Weasley and Alistair Avery.   
  
I quickly shut the door again, and find myself thinking back to the first party of the year – the one where Dominique showed up looking like a beauty queen and Caroline swore up and down that it was all for a boy.  
  
It appears she was correct on that theory.  
  
At least  _someone_  got something good out of that night.  
  
I head down the hallway to find a different classroom – one that’s  _actually_ empty this time.  
  
   
  


* * *

  
  
  
On Wednesday, the temperature drops precipitously, making the drafty classrooms unsuitable for proper studying. Even my best Heating Charm gets weakened in a half hour or so, creating a frustrating distraction.   
  
I’m already distracted enough by my own guilt and stress, so adding in another distraction is too much to bear.  
  
So that’s how I find myself heading to the library, unsure of whether or not I actually want James to be there.  
  
On one hand, some human interaction would be nice, given that I’ve avoided interacting with anyone at all since Monday morning. As a matter of fact, I’m sure it’s some sort of record for the amount of time I’ve gone without making eye contact with anyone.  
  
But on the other hand, I don’t really want to see him. I’m irrationally mad that my life has gone up in flames around me as a result of this one-night stand, whereas his hasn’t changed a bit. I get that the circumstances were quite different, but it still feels unfair somehow.  
  
Before I have a chance to think about it any further, I’m already back in the History of Magic section where, sure enough, James is sitting with a book in front of him.  
  
I set my things down on the table, avoiding eye contact even though I can feel him looking at me.  
  
“How are you holding up?”  
  
Now that he’s broken the silence, I instinctively look up and into his honey-colored eyes.  
  
I sigh, sitting down in the chair across from him. “No offense, James, but why does it even matter to you?”  
  
He doesn’t miss a beat in his response. “Because, in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m partly responsible for the situation you’re in right now. And as much as the James of about a month ago would smack me upside the head for thinking this, I actually kind of care about your wellbeing.”   
  
It takes a moment for me to process his words before I’m able to formulate a response. Somehow, hearing him sound guilty for the situation I’m in makes me a little less angry at him for the unjustness of the whole situation.  
  
“I mean, you’re not really all that responsible,” I finally reply. “You shagged a girl while you were single and drunk, and your actions don’t change the fact that I was a completely willing party and that I was the one with a boyfriend and everything to lose.”  
  
James shrugs. After a moment, he looks at me and adds, “You know, I really think we might be the only two seventeen-year-olds in Hogwarts capable of discussing our history of shagging each other on nothing but entirely logical terms.”  
  
“We must be some pretty messed-up seventeen-year-olds then.”  
  
“That we are,” James responds, looking off into the distance at nothing in particular.   
  
I can’t find any words to say in the brief silence that ensures.  
  
“Right then,” he finally says, “now that you’re here, I could really use your help on this Defense reading.”  
  
Seeing as I still need to do that reading as well, I let him ask me questions as we both read. I discover that it helps me understand the topic even better when I explain it to someone else.    
  
It’s a nice distraction from the shambles that my life is currently at outside of this library.  
  
   
  


* * *

  
   
  
The remainder of the week passes by in much the same way as the previous few days have. Friday morning, however, something feels different.   
  
Immediately when I wake up, I realize that my curtains are askew – something that definitely wasn’t the case when I went to bed. After getting out of bed, I also realize that I’m the only person left in the dormitory.  
  
I quickly discover the reason for this – breakfast has already started, and I’m somehow only just now waking up.  
  
I rush into the bathroom to start getting ready, but any coherent thought is wiped from my brain the moment I see my own reflection in the mirror.  
  
Written on my forehead, in bright red letters glowing with the obvious hint that magic was involved in their writing, is the word  _SLAG_.  
  
   
  


* * *

  
   
  
I try to remain calm, but after 30 minutes of attempting to scrub the letters off of my forehead or position my hair to cover it up, I’m just about at my wit’s end. Which is why I have my wand up to my hair, fully prepared to give myself a fringe if it means hiding this atrocity.   
  
I’m interrupted from this process by someone barreling into the room. They stop immediately upon entry, and from under my hair I make steady eye contact with Dominique.   
  
She looks at me, puzzled. “Er, if you don’t mind me asking… what the fuck are you doing?”  
  
I try to sound casual about it. “Oh, you know, I always wondered what I’d look like with a fringe.”   
  
Dominique lets out a small scoff. “Says the girl who practically lives in headbands. You’re lying, Abigail.”   
  
Her blunt accusation catches me off guard. And I realize that I’ve been lying to too many people already – it’s part of the reason why I’m in this mess.  
  
I decide that maybe I shouldn't lie this time around. So I look straight at her and pull the hair away from my face.  
  
Her jaw drops. “What the fuck?”   
  
I look away from her and catch my reflection in the mirror again, bringing up the emotions I’d been suppressing since I first saw the writing.  
  
I feel the tears start to well up – Merlin, what happened to the Abigail who never expressed emotion in public? I’m going soft.  
  
Dominique interrupts my pity party. “Who did that?”   
  
A hollow laugh escapes my lips. “I have no clue.”  
  
“I would’ve thought the obvious assumption would’ve been the three people in this room who suddenly started treating you like rubbish a week ago,” she says casually, as she grabs a textbook off of her bed.  
  
I shake my head, oddly defensive of the three girls in question. “This isn’t something they’d do – we were always a bit more subtle than this.”  
  
Dominique just hums in agreement while stuffing the book in her bag.  
  
I walk over to my bed, sitting on the edge of it and putting my head in my hands.  
  
“What do you think you’re doing?”  
  
I lift my head to see Dominique standing in front of me. “I mean, I can’t exactly go out in public looking like this,” I explain, gesturing to the mark on my forehead and the tears down my face.  
  
She puts her hands on her hips, and I notice a look of determination in her eyes. “No, you’re not going to let these people – these bullies, whoever they are – win.”  
  
“I’m pretty sure they already have,” I reply, gesturing to my forehead. “This is what the whole school thinks of me already, anyways.”   
  
Dominique is looking over at my nightstand. “So what? Who cares what people think of you?”  
  
I’m about to respond, but she starts talking again. “I mean, look at this book you’re reading.  _The Scarlet Letter_ , right? I read that the summer after fifth year. The main character has to walk around with a huge A on her chest for the rest of her life, but that doesn’t stop her from continuing to live her life, does it? You shouldn’t let it stop yours either, you know.”  
  
I stare at the book for a few seconds. Who knew this particular choice of Muggle fiction would end up being so applicable to my life?  
  
She grabs one of my headbands, which is sitting on top of the book in question, and hands it to me. “You’re going to put this on, you’re going to reclaim the profanity written on your face, and you’re going to walk into the Great Hall like you fucking own the place.”   
  
I stare at the headband for a few moments, then look up at Dominique. I can’t help but ask: “Why are you being so nice to me?”  
  
“Because,” she responds simply, “I know what it’s like to be treated like shit by all your roommates.”   
  
I instantly feel a rush of guilt. “I’m sorry,” I mumble.    
  
“I’m over it now,” Dominique says, brushing it off. “So let’s go – you can sit with me and my friends today. Merlin knows we always need more people around who aren’t somehow related to me.”  
  
I instantly feel a rush of gratitude towards the girl standing in front of me. I was terrible to her for  _years_. And yet here she is, offering to help me and forgiving me for six years of mistreatment, just like that. I didn’t know that people with that much strength of character even existed.   
  
“OK,” I finally respond, putting the headband in place. “Let’s go.”  
  
And so Dominique and I walk towards the Great Hall, and I feel better than I have all week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneak peek of chapter 13...
> 
> “Molly, Amelie, this is Abigail,” Dominique explains. “Abigail, meet Molly and Amelie.”
> 
> “I don’t think it’s possible to have made it seven years at Hogwarts and not know who Abigail Winchester is, Dom,” the redhead – Molly – replies. 
> 
> “My reputation precedes me then, I guess.” I figure now is as good a time as ever to enter the conversation.
> 
> Molly looks at me and smiles. “Although, I must say, your reputation doesn’t usually involve any sort of forehead graffiti.”


	13. Complication #13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’re not the only one with love life issues.

I’m half expecting the Great Hall to go completely silent when I walk in bearing the word  _SLAG_ across my forehead. You know, something hugely dramatic. Maybe a collective gasp or something.   
  
While there are certainly some alarmed glances, the overall reaction isn’t anywhere near as dramatic as I expected. There’s a few groups of people that notice and start to whisper amongst themselves, but for the most part, people are too engrossed in their own conversations or too tired to notice.    
  
I force myself to walk in with my head held high – as if having profanity written across my forehead is completely normal and I am not at all bothered by its presence.  
  
Dominique walks towards the Hufflepuff table, so I follow her there.  
  
It’s odd that the Houses have defined tables for meals, when no one really pays all that much attention to them. People generally sit with their friends, regardless of what House they’re in. Perhaps students once had to sit by House, but that rule hasn’t been enforced once in my entire time at Hogwarts.  
  
I sit on the bench next to Dominique, as the girls across from us look at me with a mix of amusement and confusion. One has long auburn hair in a messy plait, with a Head Girl badge affixed to her robes, and the other has a light brown pixie cut.  
  
“Molly, Amelie, this is Abigail,” Dominique explains. “Abigail, meet Molly and Amelie.”  
  
“I don’t think it’s possible to have made it seven years at Hogwarts and  _not_ know who Abigail Winchester is, Dom,” the redhead – Molly – replies.   
  
“My reputation precedes me then, I guess.” I figure now is as good a time as ever to enter the conversation.  
  
Molly looks at me and smiles. “Although, I must say, your reputation doesn’t usually involve any sort of forehead graffiti.”  
  
I decide to play along with her comment and flip my hair over my shoulder. “Yes, but I figured it suits me well.”  
  
“But you didn’t do that to yourself, did you?” the other girl, Amelie, chimes in. Her voice has an Irish lilt to it, and I find myself thinking that both her accent and haircut both play into her overall fairylike appearance.  
  
“Godric, no,” I reply, suddenly serious again. “Don’t quite know who did though.”  
  
“And her friends are being a bit bint-ish lately, so she’s sitting with us now,” Dominique – or Dom, I guess, since that’s what she seems to go by – adds, almost proudly.  
  
I feel another rush of gratitude for the girl sitting next to me. I definitely don’t deserve how nice she’s being to me.  
  
“Well good, we always need more people around to fix the damn Potter-Weasley ratio.”  
  
I look at Amelie, a bit confused. “The what ratio?”  
  
“The ratio of Potter-Weasleys to the rest of us non-related folk,” Amelie explains. “I don’t understand how I got sucked into a friend group in which approximately half the people in it are all related to one another.”  
  
Molly gives Amelie a playful shove. “Because we’re so damn wonderful, that’s why.”   
  
“Speaking of being wonderful,” Dominique says as she leans forward, “I have some wonderful news for you, Molly dearest.”  
  
Molly raises her eyebrows at her cousin. “And that is?”  
  
“Well, I’m going to sit with Abigail here in Potions today, which leaves you no other option than to sit next to Michael.”  
  
Molly blushes, and I’m a bit confused by the whole situation.   
  
Dominique must notice my confusion, because she leans towards me and explains, “Molly here fancies her fellow Head, but can’t seem to make a move on him. See, he fancied her for about three years and she wasn’t really into him, but he got rather fit over the summer hols and now Molly is a bit head over heels.”  
  
“Oi!” Molly pipes up. “I’m not ‘head over heels,’ I just happen to think that he’s a very attractive bloke that I would quite like to go to Hogsmeade with.”  
  
“Same thing, really,” Dom replies with a wave of her hand. “Anyways, I’ve been trying to think up ways to force them to interact more, and you, my dear, are now an accomplice in this plan.”   
  
I nod. “It’s a good plan.”  
  
Not that I would know, really. I’d never played matchmaker for my friends before, so this was probably my first experience in that department.  
  
Among the Royals, our love lives were always totally separate things. While we certainly talked about boys a great deal, we never really got involved in each other’s love lives or relationships. I can’t decide whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.  
  
Breakfast continues, and I find that holding a conversation with Molly, Dom, and Amelie feels natural. I also notice that the conversation never really turns to gossip – an odd concept considering that most of my conversations with the Royals always involved some sort of discussion of the Hogwarts rumour mill.  
  
As the hall starts to clear out, I feel a tapping on my shoulder. “Miss Winchester?”  
  
I turn around and find myself face to face with McGonagall.  
  
“I take it that the charm on your forehead is not your own doing?”   
  
I shake my head. I don’t know why she feels the need to ask. What kind of person charms an insult into their own forehead?  
  
“Well then, in that case, please come with me so we can get it removed.”  
  
I jump up and grab my bag. Thank Merlin – wearing this charm through the Great Hall may have been a bit of a power move, but that didn’t mean I was prepared to walk around with it on my forehead all day.   
  
“And rest assured, Miss Winchester,” McGonagall adds, “Hogwarts does not tolerate bullying of this sort. We will be working to find out who is responsible.”  
  
I nod and follow her out of the Great Hall.  
  
   
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
I walk into the Potions classroom, completely charm-free, to discover that, sure enough, Dom has her bag sitting on the seat next to her, and Molly is sitting next to Michael Davies.  
  
I know Davies well enough – he’s a Ravenclaw, so he shares a dormitory with Blaise. He’s a Quidditch player and, based on a particularly vivid Defence class memory, is completely terrified of jack-in-the-boxes, of all things.  
  
Dom pulls her bag out of the seat once she sees me walk in. “Looks like you’re back to normal. A shame, really – the red writing really brought out your eyes.”  
  
I’m struck by Dom’s consistent ability to spout witty responses to just about anything. I feel guilty for judging her so harshly over the years – despite her Quidditch obsession and lackadaisical approach to her appearance, I find that I genuinely enjoy talking to her.  
  
“Who knows, maybe I’ll bring it back as a regular thing,” I muse.  
  
I look over to the table across from us. “Molly and Davies look rather happy with this new seating arrangement.”  
  
Sure enough, the two are chatting amicably, and there’s a hint of a blush on Molly’s cheeks as Davies’ hand bumps into hers.  
  
“I’m a pretty damn good matchmaker, if I do say so myself,” Dom says, tightening her messy ponytail on top of her head. “Now Molly just needs to grow a pair and make a move.”  
  
“Alright, settle down, students.” Professor Richmond says as she walks to the front of the classroom. “You’re brewing Hiccoughing Solution today, so get to work please. You’ll be free to go as soon as your potion is done.”  
  
Everyone works quickly to collect their ingredients and start working on the Potion. As people get into the brewing process, conversations in the room start to pick up again.   
  
I find myself wanting to ask Dom about what I saw earlier this week. Namely, the person I caught her snogging.   
  
But are we friends? Is this something I’m allowed to talk to her about?  
  
I remind myself that I’ve decided to stop keeping so many secrets from people, and I’m including this in that category.   
  
Now’s as good a time as ever, when everyone around us is otherwise occupied with their own potions and their own conversations.  
  
“So,” I start, “you and Alistair Avery.”  
  
Dominique almost drops the nettles that she’s measuring. She looks at me, wide-eyed. “What are you talking about?”   
  
“Well, I walked into what I thought was an empty classroom on Monday, and, um, it wasn’t empty."   
  
“Shit,” Dom replies. “I can’t believe we forgot to lock the door. Thank Merlin it was you who walked in and not Freddy or James.”  
  
I tilt my head in confusion. “What would’ve been so bad about those two?”  
  
“Oh Godric,” Dom replies, throwing her head back. “Because they’d fucking lose their minds. Alec is like, one of their best friends, and I’m their cousin, and they’re oddly protective of me for no good reason.”  
  
I scoff, thinking of Freddy’s, er, promiscuity, and James’s – well, James and I’s history. The two have no right to be that overprotective of their cousin. Blokes are ridiculous.   
  
“So yeah, if you could do me a huge favor and not mention it to anyone – especially not them, that would be fantastic.”  
  
I smile at her. “My lips are sealed. Besides, I have no idea how that’d come up in conversation anyways – ‘oh yeah, Fred, I know we don’t talk much but your mate and your cousin are snogging buddies now.’ “   
  
“Not just snog buddies,” Dom replies softly. “We’re kind of dating.”  
  
“Ooh, even better,” I respond. I’m oddly happy for her, even though a small part of me is at least somewhat bitter that she’s in a happy relationship while mine just fell apart.  
  
“Yeah, it is.” Dom’s cheeks turn a little pinker. “But we just need time to figure out how to tell everyone, given, you know, the James and Freddy thing.”   
  
“Well, you don’t have to worry about me telling anyone.”  
  
“Thanks, Abigail. I really appreciate that.”  
  
   
  


* * *

  
  
  
After classes end, I let Dom drag me to the Gryffindor common room. Apparently that’s her chosen hang-out spot on a Friday afternoon. I don’t ask how she knows the password, but the painting that acts as the common room door seems completely unbothered by it.   
  
Molly and Amelie are already sitting on the couches, along with a girl with wavy red hair who I think is Rose Weasley. I sit in an armchair, tucking one of my legs underneath me.  
  
“What’s up, Rosie?” Dom says, falling onto one of the couches.  
  
Rose looks up from her book. “Sixth year is going to be the death of me,” she sighs.  
  
“Says the girl who got 10 Outstandings on her O.W.L.s last year,” Dom shoots back.  
  
“Still,” Rose sighs, before noticing me. Her eyebrows furrow just a little bit.  
  
“Ah, I should definitely be doing introductions,” Dom says as she claps her hands together. Rose, Abigail. Abigail, Rose.”  
  
“I know who she is,” Rose replies, looking at Dom. Why does everyone seem to know who I am, even when I don’t know them?  
  
Oh, right, because I was the unofficial queen of this school approximately a week ago. How times change.  
  
“What you did today in the Great Hall was pretty badass, you know.” I look up to see that Rose is talking to me.  
  
“Oh, er, thanks,” I respond. Badass wouldn’t have been my choice of descriptor. “Dom was the one that made me do it though.”  
  
“That sounds like Dom."   
  
The portrait door suddenly swings open, and four boys come tumbling in. It takes me a few moments to recognize that it’s James, Fred, Alec, and Simon.  
  
It takes the four of them about five seconds to take over the couches that we’re sitting on. Simon wedges himself between Molly and Amelie, Fred all but sits on top of Dom, Alec sprawls out on an open armchair, and James finds himself sitting on the arm of the chair I’m in. If he’s surprised by the fact that I’m here, he doesn’t show it.  
  
“What a wonderful gathering of people!” Fred throws his arms out dramatically.  
  
“Freddy Weasley, if you don’t get off of me in two seconds, I will destroy your ability to procreate,” Dom growls.  
  
Fred responds by repositioning himself on the arm of the couch. Apparently a threat from Dom is one to be taken seriously.  
  
Freed from being crushed by her cousin, Dom looks at James. “I’m honored that you decided to join us for once, instead of hiding out on your own as you insist on doing so much lately.”  
  
I see his eyes momentarily flicker towards me. “Well excuse me if I’m trying to not fail my N.E.W.T.s this year. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you lot aren’t exactly the most productive people to study around.”  
  
“Oi! I take that personally,” Simon shouts, clutching his heart as if he’s been wounded.  
  
“He’s got a point, mate,” Alec shrugs. “It takes me twice as long to write an essay when I’m working with you lot.”  
  
Dom changes the subject, looking over at James again. “So how’s Gryffindor’s team looking this year? Ready for the first match?”  
  
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he responds. “I don’t share team secrets with the competition, especially not before a big match.”  
  
“Oh shove off, you don’t even play us in the first match.”   
  
“Still, I’m keeping Gryffindor’s team strategies a secret.”  
  
Dom scoffs. “You do realize I could literally walk into the stands while you lot are practicing and observe for myself, right? It’s not that hard.”   
  
“Alright, you two, no one else wants to talk Quidditch, so shut up,” Rose interjects.  
  
Before either Dom or James has a chance to protest, Molly interrupts with a new topic. “Have all you lot got your Halloween costumes sorted?”  
  
Merlin, I’d completely forgotten about the annual Halloween party happening next weekend. I’d ordered costumes while Blaise and I were still together, but those obviously wouldn’t be appropriate anymore.   
  
Fred’s response breaks me out of my thoughts. “I think I’m going as Peeves.”   
  
“And how do you reckon you’re going to dress like Peeves, mate?” Simon asks.  
  
Fred shrugs. “I haven’t gotten to that part yet. I just want an excuse to run around and pelt people in water balloons.”  
  
Molly glares at him. “I swear, if you manage to ruin my Halloween makeup with a water balloon, I will never forgive you.”  
  
“All below-the-neck hits, I promise,” Fred responds, raising his right hand as a promise.  
  
“You’re the worst.” Molly tries to sound annoyed, but the small smirk on her face gives it away.  
  
“Well, I’m going as a phoenix,” Dom adds, bringing the conversation back on course. “Minus the bursting into flames part, obviously.”  
  
“I still think costumes are too bloody complicated,” Rose complains. “Why can’t I just wear a party dress and call it a day?”  
  
“You’re a witch, Rose.” Amelie joins the conversation again. “You could literally just transfigure a normal dress into a costume.”   
  
“It’s the principle of the thing,” Rose pouts.  
  
“Regardless of whether or not you choose to put in the miniscule amount of effort it takes to show up in a costume, Rosie,” Fred chimes in, “it’s going to be one hell of a party.”  
  
“So much bloody firewhiskey,” Alec adds.  
  
Ha, I’ll be staying  _very_  far away from that this time around.  
  
The entire group busts out laughing, and I realize I’ve just said that last thought out loud. Whoops.  
  
Fred’s the first to speak, shooting me a cheeky grin. “Who knew Winchester had a sense of humour under all that prissiness?”  
  
I decide that, against every preconceived notion I’d had before today, I actually quite like these people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneak peek of chapter 14...
> 
> “You know,” James starts talking again, breaking me out of my thoughts, “I knew you were going to recover from this whole situation eventually, but I never really expected you’d do it by joining my friend group.”
> 
> I let out a small laugh. “Yeah, I can’t say I expected that one either.” 
> 
> There’s a brief silence before I start talking again. “You have some pretty great friends, you know that?” 
> 
> “Yeah, I do.”
> 
> He pauses for a moment, his eyebrows creasing a bit. “They like you too as well, you know. Turns out I was right after all – you’re not so bad when you stop acting like you’re above everyone.”


	14. Complication #14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keeping a secret relationship a secret is a lot harder than it looks.

“Are you sure your friends aren’t going to get mad at you for abandoning them again?”  
  
I drop into the seat across from James at our usual table.  
  
He shrugs. “They get that N.E.W.T. year is serious, so they’re not actually upset about it. Plus Alec has been going off on his own to study all the time too, so he can’t really say anything.”  
  
I resist the urge to laugh at his obliviousness. Yeah, ‘studying’ is exactly what Alec has been doing in that time.  
  
James changes the subject. “So I guess Dom has taken you under her wing?”  
  
I smile a little at that. “Yeah, I guess she has.”  
  
Despite my persistent belief that this was all some sort of joke, Dom’s friendly behavior has continued for about a week now. While I’m definitely still adjusting to the whole situation, I think it’s safe to say that we’re something resembling friends now.  
  
“Good. You two are actually really similar, even if it doesn’t seem like it at first.”  
  
He’s right. On the surface, we’re pretty opposite; I’m the type of person that doesn’t like to go out in public with a single hair out of place, while Dom couldn’t care less about her appearance 90% of the time.   
  
She’s also part veela, as I’ve discovered, so she can be that laidback and still look amazing. Really rather unfair, if you ask me.  
  
But I’ve discovered that we have a similar sense of humour and a fascination with old Muggle literature. I still don’t get the Quidditch obsession though.  
  
“You know,” James starts talking again, breaking me out of my thoughts, “I knew you were going to recover from this whole situation eventually, but I never really expected you’d do it by joining my friend group.”  
  
I let out a small laugh. “Yeah, I can’t say I expected that one either.”   
  
There’s a brief silence before I start talking again. “You have some pretty great friends, you know that?”   
  
“Yeah, I do.”  
  
He pauses for a moment, his eyebrows creasing a bit. “They like you too as well, you know. Turns out I was right after all – you’re not so bad when you stop acting like you’re above everyone.”  
  
“Well you tend to lose an air of superiority after you spend a whole week eating with the house elves and get the word ‘slag’ written across your forehead.” I say it in a joking manner, but it still stings a little.   
  
“Speaking of that, did McGonagall ever find out who did it?”  
  
I think back to McGonagall pulling me aside after dinner earlier this week. “Yeah, it was some Ravenclaw fifth years, apparently. They got a month’s worth of detention for it.”  
  
“Good,” James replies resolutely. “They deserve that for pulling something that shitty.”  
  
I roll my eyes. “Says the guy who once turned all the tables in the Great Hall into gelatin.”  
  
“Yeah, but that was different. Pranks like that are fun and make people laugh. Turning someone into a walking billboard of their past mistakes isn’t funny, it’s just plain mean.”  
  
I think on that. Yes, the Fits regularly pulled pranks throughout their years at Hogwarts, but they were all completely harmless. Nothing ever crossed the line from annoying to hurtful. Although, now that I’m considering it, I realize that the boys hadn’t pulled any pranks this year beyond the hair colouring thing at the welcome feast. Odd.  
  
“That’s fair.”  
   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
A few hours before the Halloween party is set to begin, I find myself in the 7th year Hufflepuff girls’ dormitory. Around me, Dom, Molly, and Amelie are getting their costumes, makeup, and hair ready.   
  
Dom is, true to her earlier annoucement, dressing as a phoenix. She has once again managed to find a glittery, form-fitting dress to wear, but this one is a rainbow of red, orange, and gold. She has an array of matching feathers and some elaborate plan to weave them into her hair.  
  
Molly is wearing a blue-and-white gingham dress, with her hair in two neat plaits. She’s currently in front of the bathroom mirror creating her ragdoll face makeup to match.  
  
Amelie is wandering around the room in a short, shimmery dress and a headband with a feather sticking out from the top – she’s going as a flapper, something that she’s totally suited for given her tiny figure and short haircut.   
  
I stare at my “costume,” currently laid on top of Molly’s bed. When Blaise and I were still together, we were planning to go as James Dean and Audrey Hepburn. I had ordered the outfits before our breakup, so I have the black dress, simple black heels, and pearl necklace sitting in front of me.  
  
Staring at this costume almost feels like a relic from my past; it’s barely been 2 weeks since Blaise and I broke up and the Royals started ignoring me, but I feel like a totally different person now than I was then. I’m certainly hanging out with an entirely different group of people, at the very least.   
  
“Abigail?” Dom’s voice interrupts my reflections. “You should probably start getting ready soon, we don’t want to be late.”  
  
I nod, still staring at the dress on the bed. I finally force myself to slip it on, and look at myself in the mirror.  
  
The girl staring back at me looks like the put-together queen I’ve always been. But the exterior doesn’t quite match the interior. That version of me is dead. So I grab my wand, and get to work on the hemline.  
  
When I’m done, the dress is entirely unrecognizable. For one, it’s significantly shorter – far more scandalous than anything I’d normally go out in. The fabric that I cut from the bottom of the dress is now attached to my back in the shape of bat wings. The wings are attached to my wrist as well, meaning that the wings spread whenever I raise my arms. I admire my handiwork – it’s a totally new costume now.  
  
“Holy shit, Abigail,” Molly says. “You look amazing.”  
  
I feel a rush of pride. “Thanks.”  
  
“Seriously,” Amelie chimes in, “you’re going to have to teach me how to work that kind of magic on clothing.”  
  
“Oh, it wasn’t anything too elaborate, just a steady Severing Charm is all.”  
  
“Regardless, your legs look bloody amazing in that.” Dom looks over at me, taking a break from her careful feather placement.   
  
“I could say the same for you, you know,” I respond. It’s still odd to have this kind of dialogue with her, but I’m gradually getting more accustomed to it.  
  
I pull my hair into a half-up, half-down style, and add a dark smoky eye to my makeup. The girl looking back at me still doesn’t feel like me, but she feels much less foreign.   
  
Dom’s waiting at the door, somehow the first one ready despite having the most complicated costume. “Alright, bitches, let’s get to this party before all the alcohol is gone.”   
  
   
  


* * *

  
  
  
Despite arriving to the party “on time,” there’s still a decent amount of people already at the Room of Requirement. Hogwarts students may not always be the most punctual, but apparently we take parties much more seriously than classes.  
  
I scan the room as we walk in; sure enough, Scarlett, Caroline, and Brooke are at the center of the party. They’re clad in matching floor-length dresses – I’m not sure what they’re meant to be from a distance, but I can’t help but feel a pang of resentment.  
  
I really like hanging out with Dom and all of her friends/cousins, but it’s just weird to not have the friends you spent the last six years with.   
  
At the bar, I grab a butterbeer, mainly just to give me something to do with my hands.  
  
“No firewhiskey this time around, then?”  
  
I spin around at the voice in my ear, and find myself face-to-face with James. He’s wearing an easy smile – an uncharacteristic expression for him, and a surefire sign that he’s already had a drink or two.  
  
“I learned my lesson the last time,” I reply. He smirks at that.  
  
I survey his outfit briefly. He appears to be in some version of medieval clothing, but it’s covered in fake blood – as is his face. “And what exactly are you meant to be dressed as?”  
  
He laughs. “The Bloody Baron. Freddy ended up being serious about the whole Peeves thing, so we decided to make it a whole theme.”  
  
I look around, and sure enough, Fred is dressed rather similarly to the poltergeist, and is targeting people at random with water balloons. At the moment, Rose looks rather cross with him – I assume that she was his latest target.  
  
I also notice Alec, who’s dressed similarly to James but with a line of fake blood across his neck – Nearly Headless Nick, then. And Simon has to be wearing at least three pillows strapped to his body as he moves through the crowd dressed as the Fat Friar.  
  
“Impressive,” I respond.  
  
“James!” Simon has somehow made his way across the room despite his added girth, and he claps his friend on the back. It’s clear that he’s also had quite a few drinks.  
  
“So can I expect you to make it back to the dormitory tonight, or is this going to happen again?” Simon looks meaningfully between the two of us.  
  
I choke on the sip of butterbeer I just took.  
  
James at least has the functionality to form a response. “That was a one-time thing, mate.”   
  
“Ah, okay,” Simon says, suddenly distracted. “I’m going to get another drink.”  
  
James chuckles at his friend as he ambles away. “I should probably make sure he doesn’t do anything else ridiculous.”  
  
I nod, still recovering.  
  
“You look great in that, by the way.” James makes little effort to conceal the appreciative glance towards my exposed legs.  
  
And with that, he disappears in the crowd to find Simon.   
  
Drunk blokes are idiots.  
  
I quickly find Molly and Amelie again, although Dom is nowhere to be found. I have a hunch that she’s probably off somewhere with Nearly Headless Nick – the costumed version, that is.  
  
   
  


* * *

  
  
  
About an hour later, that hunch is confirmed. As I walk towards the bar for another drink, I notice Dom and Alec holed up in a corner, snogging like their lives depend on it.  
  
Unfortunately, I’m not the only one who notices.  
  
“What the  _fuck_?” James passes by me towards the couple. When he gets there, he grabs Alec by the shoulder and pulls him off of Dom.  
  
“Alistair Avery, get your bloody hands off my cousin,” he growls.  
  
I watch the scene unfold from a few feet away, entirely unsure of my role as a bystander in this situation. Do I intervene? Do I just let whatever bedlam is about to break loose just happen without saying anything? Do I run the other direction and pretend I didn’t see anything?   
  
Dom glares at her cousin. “James, lay off it – “  
  
James turns to her. “And what do you think you’re doing with your hands all over a bloke in the middle of a party?”   
  
Dom looks genuinely angry now. “I don’t understand why you’re going after me when Freddy is doing the same damn thing on the other side of the room.”  
  
I sneak a glance over in that direction, and sure enough, Fred has his hands in some blonde girl’s hair and they’re practically sucking each other’s faces off.  
  
James ignores her comment and looks back at Alec. “I really ought to hex you into next week for this.”  
  
He reaches for his wand, and I officially abandon my role as bystander. Drunk magic is a disaster waiting to happen.   
  
“James, no.” My voice sounds more confident than I feel as I step between the two boys.  
  
He looks at me, clearly thrown off by my entrance into the situation.  
  
“All of you are drunk right now,” I continue. “You can resolve this in the morning, when everyone’s sober and you’re not going to accidentally hex anyone’s eye out.”   
  
The anger doesn’t leave his face, but he lowers his wand.  
  
“In the morning, Avery,” James finally says. “But if I see your hands on Dom again tonight, so help me Merlin I will actually hex your eye out.”  
  
With that, he walks away and out the door of the Room of Requirement.  
  
I look at Dom, whose facial expression is stuck somewhere between anger and relief.   
  
“Thank you,” she finally gets out.  
  
I shrug. “I wasn’t a huge fan of the idea of dragging someone to the Hospital Wing tonight.”  
  
“I also think I’ve had quite enough drama and partying for one night,” I add. “I’m going to head back to Ravenclaw Tower.”  
  
“I’ll join you,” Dom replies. “Probably best that Alec and I actually heed James’ warning in case he decides to come back to the party or Freddy comes up for air from whatever bird he’s snogging.”  
  
She gives Alec a quick kiss goodnight, before linking arms with me and exiting the party.  
  
All in all, not the most dramatic party I've been to this year, but a hot mess nonetheless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneak peek of chapter 15...
> 
> Eventually, I unfold the paper, and discover a brief and hastily written message.
> 
> Intervention
> 
> RoR, tonight at 7:30 pm
> 
> “Honestly, it’s probably a good thing I’m here, because I didn’t think about the fact that you’d have no idea what that message means.”
> 
> I look up at James. “You know what this is about?”
> 
> “Of course I do,” he responds. “I wrote it.”


	15. Complication #15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solving family drama can get messy, especially when said family is the Potters and the Weasleys.

When I go down to breakfast the next morning, Hogwarts is eerily quiet. I suspect that's due to the fact that most of the older students are all nursing some sort of hangover and the younger students are just enjoying a Sunday morning lie-in.  
  
The Great Hall is relatively empty when I arrive. I find a spot in the middle of the Ravenclaw table and fix myself a plate of food, actually rather content to enjoy my breakfast alone.  
  
That solitude, however, only lasts a few minutes longer, because someone drops into the seat across from me. I look up to discover that it’s James, looking remarkably chipper for someone who had been drinking the night before.  
  
“You’re up early,” I note, trying to decipher what sort of mood he’s in.  
  
“I could say the same for you, seeing as you were here before me.” He reaches towards the plate of bacon and starts piling it on to his plate. He seems to be in a much happier mood this morning – a stark contrast to his behaviour last night.  
  
“True,” I muse, “but I was also completely sober last night.”  
  
He shrugs. A few moments later, an owl drops a piece of parchment onto my plate.  
  
I’m not expecting a letter – my parents aren’t exactly in the habit of writing me regularly – so I eye the paper with a bit of uncertainty.  
  
Eventually, I unfold the paper, and discover a brief and hastily written message.

  
  
_Intervention_   
  
_RoR, tonight at 7:30 pm_   
  


“Honestly, it’s probably a good thing I’m here, because I didn’t think about the fact that you’d have no idea what that message means.”  
  
I look up at James, who looks pretty amused at my obvious confusion. “You know what this is about?”  
  
“Of course I do,” he responds. “I wrote it.”  
  
“Alright then, explain.”  
  
“Basically, the Potter-Weasley family is huge, and we all have our own groups of friends yet all manage to get caught up in each other’s drama. And since there’s so many of us, it’s easier to handle all of our issues in one place instead of letting them play out on their own. So we created this ‘intervention’ system my second year. Whenever there’s an issue that needs solving, someone sends out an intervention notice. Hence, what you have there.”  
  
I look down at the piece of parchment again, and back up at James, who is continuing his lengthy explanation.  
  
“So everyone gets a notice, only the people who the intervention is about get a notice that has a slightly later start time – so you never know if it’s about you or not until you get there, that’s part of the system. That gives whoever’s arranging the whole intervention enough time to explain the issue and for the group to come to something resembling a consensus.”  
  
I nod slowly, the concept starting to come together in my mind. “And I’m a part of this now?”  
  
“Yep,” James replies. “Not only have you managed to get yourself tangled up with a number of us Potter/Weasleys, but you’re also a witness to the situation at hand.”  
  
“So this is about – “  
  
James interrupts me before I can get Dom and Alec’s names out of my mouth. “Yes. Although theoretically I shouldn’t be telling you that, since that violates the whole nature of the intervention process. But this is your first time at one of these, so I’ll give you a pass.”  
  
I look at him, mildly amused by how seriously he’s taking this whole ‘intervention’  thing. “This seems like an unnecessarily complicated system.”  
  
“Well, when the alternative is waiting for someone to blow up on someone else and make a huge scene about it, unnecessarily complicated is better than nothing. It’s much easier than having your family business unfold while the entire Hogwarts population is watching and having it potentially end up in the  _Prophet_ as well.”  
  
“That’s true,” I concede, thinking about how much nicer it would’ve been if  _my_ drama had unfolded behind closed doors instead of for the entire Ravenclaw house to witness.  
  
I also think about the fact that I’ve never seen any of their family drama unfold on a public scale. I’d never put much thought into why that was, because a family that large was bound to have a ton of arguments, but this system explained that.   
  
We lapse into silence, me spreading jam onto a slice of toast and James continuing to consume a borderline excessive amount of bacon.  
  
James finishes the last few bites of his breakfast, then looks back up at me. “If you need me, I’m going to be flying around the Quidditch pitch until I can’t feel my legs anymore.”  
  
   
  


* * *

  
  
  
After successfully managing to lose track of time while reading a book, it’s 7:32 by the time I get to the Room of Requirement. I stare at the door for a moment, unsure what exactly I’m supposed to be asking of the room to get in.  
  
 _Er… I need the Potter/Weasley intervention room?_  
  
The room seems to accept that as a valid request, and a door appears. I walk inside, and am immediately shocked by the sheer number of people in the room. Between the Potters and Weasleys and all of their friends, there has to be at least thirty people spread out among a variety of couches.  
  
Hung from the back wall in the room is what appears to be a bedsheet stolen from the Hogwarts bed. Written on it, in hand-painted black letters, is the word  _INTERVENTION._  
  
I’m once again struck by how interesting it is that everyone takes this intervention concept so seriously.  
  
I find Molly, Amelie, and Rose sitting on the left side of the room, and settle myself into the open seat on their couch.  
  
“So you’ve gotten added to the intervention roster?” Amelie says, looking at me. “Damn, there’s officially no turning back now – you’re stuck with all of us.”  
  
I laugh at that. As odd an initiation as it is, it’s nice to have this sort of confirmation that yes, these people are my friends now. I’ve felt like I’ve been in an odd sort of limbo for the past few weeks, and I’m finally starting to feel comfortable again.  
  
Someone clears their throat. I look up and discover that it’s James, who’s now standing up at the center of the room.  
  
“Alright everyone, stop talking so I can give the briefing.”  
  
A few conversations in the room stop, but it’s clear that not everyone heard James’ announcement.   
  
“OI! SHUT UP!” Fred, however, ensures that the room goes silent immediately.  
  
“Thanks Freddy,” James says. “Right, so the topic for today’s intervention is Dom and Alec. Namely, the fact that I discovered the two of them snogging last night, which is entirely unacceptable and puts the integrity of our family relationships at stake and  – ”   
  
“James, why don’t we hear them out before jumping to any ridiculous conclusions?”  
  
I look at the source of the resistance, and notice that it’s a redheaded girl who looks like she’s in her third or fourth year.  
  
“Lily, you have to understand that this is Alec we’re talking about. He goes through snog buddies almost as fast as Freddy does, and I don’t want him hurting Dom. He’s a great mate and all, but he’s shit with girls."   
  
Ah, so that’s James’ little sister. Good on her for standing up to her brother.  
  
This also makes me realize that James doesn’t understand the whole situation. In his mind, Dom and Alec were just snogging at the party rather than actually dating one another. I know the reality of the situation, but I also know that this isn’t my secret to tell. So I bite my tongue.  
  
“Yes, but Dom’s old enough to make her own decisions. I’m certainly down to fight the bloke if he hurts her, but I don’t think we have the right to tell her who she can and can’t date.” That comment comes from Louis, who somehow manages to be a voice of reason and an overprotective brother all at the same time.  
  
James crosses his arm across his chest, clearly annoyed that his family disagrees with him. “Alright, fine, we hear them out. But if there’s too much funny business, I don’t want them messing up the family dynamics with their drama.”  
  
James goes and sits on the couch next to Fred; I guess that’s all that needed to be discussed.  
  
 Almost on cue, Dom and Alec walk in the door. Dom wears an expression of annoyance – it’s clear that she’s figured out what this particular intervention is about and isn’t too keen on the idea of standing in front of her cousins and their friends and defending her relationship.   
  
“So I take it you know what this is about,” James says from his seat, looking directly at Dom and Alec.  
  
Dom crosses her arms. “Yes, it’s about you being too damn nosy into my love life and being a massive git about who I choose to date.”  
  
James starts to defend himself. “I am  _not_ nosy, I am just concerned about you and – wait, ‘who you choose to date’?”  
  
“Yes, ‘who I choose to date.’ If you’d given me time to explain and hadn’t jumped to your own conclusions so bloody fast, I could’ve told you that Alec and I have been dating for the past two months, so your reaction was completely unfounded.”  
  
Fred looks like he’s seen a Boggart. “You two are dating?”  
  
 “You’re telling me Alec – the literal king of kissing and telling – managed to keep this a secret for two bloody months?” Simon chimes in.   
  
“Yeah, that’s what I’m telling you,” Alec responds, finally joining the conversation. “Ideally, we would’ve liked to announce this to you all  in a slightly better manner, but alcohol seems to have done the job for us instead.”  
  
He wraps an arm around Dom’s waist, and a faint blush appears on Dom’s cheeks.  
  
“See, I  _told you_ that we should hear them out.”  
  
I’ve never formally met the girl, but I decide that I quite like Lily Potter.  
  
“Yeah, yeah,” James replies. “Well good for you two, but I swear, Alec, you’re one of my best mates and all, but if you hurt Dom I will have no mercy in treating you exactly the way I’ve treated every one of Lily’s scumbag ex-boyfriends.”  
  
A number of other people mutter their agreement with James, including Molly and Amelie next to me.  
  
Alec has the good sense to at least look a little unnerved at that.  
  
“Alright then,” Dom says, clearly impatient to no longer be the centre of attention of her entire family, “if that’s all there is to it, I move that this intervention be dismissed.”  
  
A chorus of voices goes up around me. “Dismissed!”  
  
Godric, this family is weird.  
  
   
  


* * *

  
  
  
“So, you survived your first Potter-Weasley family intervention.”  
  
I look up from my book to see that Dom has sat herself at the foot of my bed. Her hair is in her usual messy ponytail, and she’s wearing an oversized Chudley Cannons shirt and pyjama bottoms.   
  
“Yeah, I guess I did.”  
  
“So has my whole family scarred you for life now?”  
  
I put my book on my nightstand, and think about her question for a moment. “Maybe a little, but I also kind of enjoyed it. I think it’s hilarious that you guys have such a solid system for solving your problems.”  
  
She smiles and shakes her head. “It’s a bloody mess, that’s what it is, especially when you’re the target of it. But I can’t deny that it works.”  
  
She pauses for a moment, then adds, “Thanks for keeping my secret, by the way.”  
  
“I did my best,” I admit honestly.  
  
“Yeah, well you not saying anything can’t protect against me having too many shots of Firewhiskey and thinking that it’s okay to snog my secret boyfriend in the middle of a party.”  
  
I laugh at that. “Yeah, my secret-keeping skills can only get you so far.”  
  
The door to the room opens, and the Royals come into the room. I catch one scathing glance from Scarlett, and the other two girls don’t look at me at all.   
  
The three of them pile on Scarlett’s bed and quickly shut the curtains. It’s a Sunday night and therefore time for a weekly Girl Talk session. I feel a familiar pang in my heart – it still hurts a little to know that I’m not included in those anymore.  
  
“Do you miss them?”  
  
I look back at Dom, who has a questioning look on her face. There’s no hint of malice or hurt there; she’s just genuinely wondering.   
  
“A little,” I admit honestly.  
  
She nods. “I get that. They were your best friends for six years, so it’s got to be weird to not have them in your life anymore.”  
  
“It’s definitely been something to adjust to,” I reply. “Although I will say, you lot are much more entertaining.”   
  
“That’s what we aim for,” she responds cheekily, before giving me a huge hug.  
  
Sometimes I think Dom Weasley is too nice to be real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneak peek of chapter 16:
> 
> “That seems a bit irresponsible.” 
> 
> James’ head snaps up at the sound of my voice, and his expression relaxes a little when he realizes that it’s me. He shrugs. 
> 
> I try again. “Care to explain why you’re drinking alone in the middle of the castle on a Tuesday night?”
> 
> “I’m not alone, you’re here.”
> 
> “But I’m not drinking,” I justify. “So you’re still drinking alone.”
> 
> “So drink with me.”


	16. Complication #16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Late night conversations have a tendency to loosen your tongue and expose your true self.

I still can’t believe it took me six years to discover that Hogwarts has kitchens that you can just access at any hour of the day. This discovery has single-handedly changed my life – and that’s from a girl who still tries to be conscious of what she eats.  
  
But sometime you just really need some biscuits, you know?  
  
So that’s how I find myself walking back from the kitchens a few minutes before curfew, carrying a variety of biscuits.  
  
I take the long way back to Ravenclaw Tower, grateful for the opportunity to get my mind off the mounting pile of assignments I have to do.   
  
As I turn the corner, I notice that there’s someone sitting on the floor of the dimly lit corridor. A few steps more, and I realize that it’s James. With a bottle of firewhiskey.  
  
“That seems a bit irresponsible.”   
  
James’ head snaps up at the sound of my voice, and his expression relaxes a little when he realizes that it’s me. He shrugs.   
  
I try again. “Care to explain why you’re drinking alone in the middle of the castle on a Tuesday night?”  
  
“I’m not alone, you’re here.”  
  
“But I’m not drinking,” I justify. “So you’re still drinking alone.”  
  
“So drink with me.”  
  
I hesitate. “I don’t really fancy the idea of getting caught by the prefects.”  
  
“Molly and Louis have rounds tonight – there’s no way that they’d get me in trouble.”  
  
“But there’s still the chance of a professor walking by.”  
  
“That’s why I’ve got this thing.” He pats a piece of parchment next to him, and from the light of his wand, I can see that it’s a map of Hogwarts, complete with moving footprints of every person in the castle. I have so many questions, but I decide that they can wait for another time.   
  
“You’ve got no good excuse. Join me.”  
  
There are about a million reasons that this is a bad idea. The primary one being what happened last time I got properly drunk with James around.   
  
Yet, against what the logical part of my brain is telling me to do, I sit on the floor beside him.  
  
He hands me the bottle, and I take a swig of it. I’m prepared for the burning sensation this time, and don’t shudder in response. I put the pile of biscuits between us.  
  
“So where’d you get the firewhiskey from, anyways?”  
  
“We had a few bottles left over from the Halloween party.”  
  
I’d never questioned where the Fits got all the alcohol for the yearly parties from, but I guess it would make sense that they’d occasionally get too much.   
  
I take a few more sips from the bottle, before passing it back to James. The alcohol is starting to spread into my system, warming me up and forcing me to relax.  
  
After a few moments, I ask a new question. “Care to explain  _why_ you’re drinking in an empty corridor on a Tuesday?”  
  
James doesn’t answer me at first.  
  
“Do you have any siblings?”  
  
I don’t appreciate that he’s dodging my question, but I answer him anyways. “No, I don’t.”  
  
“Consider yourself lucky.”  
  
I find this odd – he’s told me about taking care of Lily, so clearly he likes her, and I know that his brother is remarkably similar to him. The bitterness in his tone doesn’t add up.  
  
“Care to explain?”  
  
He takes another large swig of firewhiskey and grabs at a biscuit. “Try having a younger brother that’s better than you in every way possible.”  
  
Ah, so that’s what it is.  
  
I’ve never met Albus, but I know of him. He’s a Seeker for Gryffindor, he’s supposedly brilliant at Defence, and he’s been dating Cecile Walker for years.  
  
“I’m sure that’s not really the case,” I reply, trying to come up with something to say in this situation.   
  
James lets out a bitter laugh. “Oh, but it is. Clearly, it’s not enough that I have the bloody Chosen One and Saviour of the Wizarding World as a father, but I’ve got a little brother who’s the spitting image of him. Same Quidditch position, same unnatural talent at Defence – a subject I’m completely useless at, as you already know – and even a redheaded girlfriend to match.”  
  
I’m not entirely sure what the redhead part has to do with anything. But suddenly I see the problem here.  
  
James Potter has…  _daddy issues_?  
  
And brother issues, I guess. I grab the firewhiskey bottle and take another sip. I’m nearing tipsy at this point, so I don’t know why I’m still drinking,  
  
It’s like I’m seeing James in a new light. I never thought of what it would be like to have one of the most famous people in wizarding history as your father – to know that no matter what you do, you’ll never be able to top that. And having  a brother that throws that all back in your face – although I’m not even sure if Albus intentionally rubs it in James’ face or if it’s an accidental thing – has got to make things worse.  
  
“You don’t have to be just like your father, you know,” I explain eventually. “I mean, even Albus is pretty unlikely to save the entire wizarding world. You can be different than him and still be a good person.”  
  
James sighs. “I guess. Doesn’t mean I’m still not under a shit ton of pressure to not turn out a total fuck-up.”  
  
“I think we’re all under a shit ton of pressure not to turn out total fuck-ups.”  
  
At this, James actually laughs. “It throws me off when you swear.”  
  
I decide that I like this sort of power. While I think I’ve abandoned the concept of keeping my language clean for the sake of being ladylike – because really, what’s less ladylike than a one night stand during a relationship with someone else? – I like the fact that the words seem to have greater power coming out of my mouth when I use them sparingly than if I used them all the time.  
  
“So, what about you? Any rifts in your charmed life?”  
  
I roll my eyes. “If you recall, I managed to lose both my boyfriend and my best friends in the span of about thirty minutes a few weeks ago. I wouldn’t quite call that a charmed life.”   
  
“Alright then, any rifts in your not-so-charmed life?”  
  
I can’t tell if it’s the firewhiskey in my bloodstream or the fact that James just told me all about his family life, but I find myself talking about my parents.  
  
“Try one massive rift. My parents have been in one huge, aggressive fight since they divorced three years ago, and I’m the collateral. They’re each so obsessed with this concept of buying my love. My  mum absolutely hates when I spend any sort of time with my dad, and my dad’s constantly busy with work and his new fiancée. So you know, at least you’ve got a family that’s all in one piece.”  
  
James nods. “That’s got to be hard to balance.”  
  
“Yeah, it is,” I respond. “They ran into each other on the platform this year, and immediately started fighting. I eventually ran away without actually saying goodbye to either of them.”  
  
James’ eyes are on me again. “So is that why you looked like you’d been hanging around a group of dementors when I ran into you on the train?”  
  
I’d almost forgotten about that incident. “Yeah, yeah it was.”  
  
“That was the first time I realized you were actually human,” James admits. “The first time I saw you as something other than a queen bee robot.”   
  
I laugh, the sound something between hollow and genuine. “Well, the queen bee robot part is definitely gone now.”   
  
“That it is.” James takes the final swig from the firewhiskey bottle, and I realize that we’ve gone through the entire bottle between the two of us, along with my entire stack of biscuits.   
  
Through the course of conversation, we’ve somehow migrated from being a few inches apart to being side-by-side. Our knees are touching, and I lean my head onto his shoulder.  
  
“It’s weird though,” I add, “because I feel like I don’t even know who I am anymore. There was the Abigail before all of this happened, and then there’s me now. And I feel like a totally different person sometimes, but I don’t know how to actually fully become this new version of myself.”   
  
James doesn’t say anything; we just stay sitting in an empty corridor, a new understanding between the two of us.  
  
   
  


* * *

  
  
  
When I wake up in my own bed the next morning, I remember why I swore to never drink  again last time. My head is  _pounding_ , and I want nothing more than to curl up under the covers for a few more hours until this feeling wears off.   
  
But unfortunately, it’s a Wednesday, which means I have class first thing in the morning.  
  
Why did I let James Potter talk me into doing something this stupid?  
  
I try to make myself look as presentable as possible, but it’s definitely obvious that there’s something off about me right now. However, my hungover self can’t be bothered to expend any more effort on my appearance.  
  
When Dom and I get down to breakfast, we end up sitting at the Gryffindor table. I’ve learned that there’s no rhyme or reason to the places we sit each day, as well as no set schedule as to where we end up spending out evenings. It’s a bit chaotic, to be perfectly honest.   
  
Dom immediately loads up her plate, and the four boys have been stuffing their faces since before Dom and I got here. I sit next to James, who gives me a knowing look after taking in my slightly-bedraggled appearance.  
  
I stare at the breakfast spread, trying to fight off the nausea I feel looking at all of the food. None of it sounds appetizing right now.  
  
“Greasy food helps.”  
  
James had leaned over and said this into my ear so that no one else could hear, and now he’s looking at me with a slight smirk on his face. I briefly wonder how he’s not in the same state as me this morning, considering he was the one who drank the majority of the firewhiskey last night.  
  
Stupid teenage boys and their high alcohol tolerances.  
  
“Okay,” I finally respond.  
  
I take James’ advice and put bacon, eggs, and buttered toast on my plate, forcing myself to eat even though I’m still not particularly keen on it.  
  
Sure enough, I finally start to feel like a functioning human by the start of Transfiguration.  
  
   
  


* * *

  
  
  
I remain pretty sleep-deprived throughout the remainder of that week. I’m feeling particularly guilty again for cheating on Blaise, and it’s preventing me from sleeping properly.   
  
It’s not so much that I regret the aftermath anymore – I’m quite happy with all of my newfound friendships, although I still miss my old friends and boyfriend a little – but I still feel awful for doing what I did. Blaise didn’t deserve the way I treated him, and I feel awful for breaking his heart.  
  
As a result of my nighttime restlessness, I’m practically falling asleep in Potions on Friday while Professor Richmond lectures about Felix Felicis.  
  
Dom nudges me in the side, and I pick my head up from my hands.  
  
“Do you want me to get your ingredients for you?”  
  
I realize that everyone has started getting out of their seats to get ingredients from the supply cabinet.   
  
“No, I can get my own,” I reply, hearing the exhaustion in my voice. “Thanks for offering, though.”  
  
We walk up to the cabinet, get our ingredients, and get to work on our potions.  
  
“You OK?” Dom asks eventually. “You’re not usually the type to fall asleep mid-lesson.”  
  
I shrug. “I just haven’t been sleeping well this week.”  
  
“Right,” she responds, clearly sensing that I’m not giving the full explanation. “Well if you ever want to talk about anything, you know I’m here.”   
  
I appreciate her support, but I also know that I probably won’t talk to her about it. This guilt is my burden to bear and my burden alone – I was the one that made the mistake of cheating on my boyfriend and throwing a massive wrench into my own life – and I don’t want to drag anyone else into that emotional thunderstorm. I know it’ll get better eventually, so I’m just letting myself process it internally until that happens.  
  
So instead, I change the subject. “Molly and Davies look like they’re getting on well.”  
  
It’s true – the two of them are sitting closer than your average set of Potions partners would, and they’re constantly leaning over towards one another to say something or other.   
  
“It’s so obvious that they both have a thing for each other,” Dom replies. “One of them just needs to get it over with and ask the other one out.”   
  
She pauses for a moment. “Or someone just needs to lock them in a broom closet for a little bit.”  
  
“I don’t think locking the two Heads in a broom closet would go well.”  
  
Dom laughs. “Yeah, Ravenclaw would definitely lose a few points for that one.”  
  
She turns to me. “And what about you? You and James seem to be awful close lately.”  
  
Something between a laugh and a squawk escapes my lips. “Oh no, nothing like that. At all. We’re friends now, but definitely nothing more.”   
  
Friends who know a lot of secrets about each other. The level of vulnerability and honesty I hit with James on Tuesday night was entirely out-of-character, but I also don’t regret anything I said. I also can’t deny that I feel closer to James because of it – he probably knows more about me now than anyone else.  
  
“Friends who shagged once.”  Dom’s dirty comment drags me out of my thoughts.  
  
“Once and never again,” I clarify.  
  
“Okay, if that’s what you want.”  
  
“It is,” I respond.  
  
I’m confident in my answer as it comes out of my mouth, but I reconsider it briefly afterwards. James is definitely attractive, and I can’t deny that I very much enjoyed our one-night-stand in the moment.  
  
But I’m also not really looking for a shag buddy anytime soon, and I don’t really think James is the type of person I can picture myself dating.  
  
Yes, we’re best as just friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneak peek of chapter 17:
> 
> “Dom, you’re in charge of explaining everything to Abigail here,” James says, looking at his cousin with a smirk on his face.
> 
> “You got it!” Dom mock-salutes James, almost elbowing Alec in the face in the process. She looks far too delighted about this task.
> 
> Merlin. What have I gotten myself into?


	17. Complication #17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You might end up liking something you once swore you’d hate.

The following weekend brings the first Quidditch match of the year. It also creates a dramatic scene at dinner the day before the match, when I admit that I’ve actually never been to a Hogwarts Quidditch match before.   
  
“YOU  _WHAT_?”  
  
I think the entire Great Hall swivels to look at Fred, who’s staring at me like I’ve been transfigured into a three-headed dog.  
  
Perhaps this wasn’t a good thing to admit to when four of the seven people around me are Quidditch players.   
  
“I just wasn’t ever really interested in it,” I defend. “Plus, the castle is basically empty during the match, so you get some really nice peace and quiet.”   
  
“Peace and quiet is nothing compared to the thrill of a Quidditch match!” Simon is the most heated I think I’ve ever seen him. “So much excitement and adrenaline and House spirit – it’s basically the best part about Hogwarts!”  
  
“You’re coming to the match tomorrow, whether you like it or not,” James tells me.  
  
“I never said I wasn’t going!” I argue. “I just said I hadn’t been to one before!”  
  
“Well, we’re three-sevenths of the Gryffindor Quidditch team right here, so you better be going,” Simon replies.   
  
“Fine, I’m definitely going!”  
  
“Dom, you’re in charge of explaining everything to Abigail here,” James says, looking at his cousin with a smirk on his face.  
  
“You got it!” Dom mock-salutes James, almost elbowing Alec in the face in the process. She looks far too delighted about this task.  
  
Merlin. What have I gotten myself into?   
  
Dom takes her responsibility to explain Quidditch to me incredibly seriously, as she comes and sits on my bed as soon as we’ve changed into pyjamas.  
  
“Right, so there’s seven players on a team: three Chasers, two Beaters, a Keeper, and a Seeker. For reference, I’m a Beater, James is a Keeper, Fred’s a Chaser, and Simon’s also a Beater. There’s also three different balls in play: the Quaffle, the Bludgers, and the Snitch.”   
  
She’s brought a piece of parchment with her, and is absentmindedly sketching out a Quidditch pitch while she explains it to me.  
  
“The Chasers are trying to score points by throwing the Quaffle through these hoops, and the Keeper is trying to block the Chasers’ attempts. The Beaters have bats that they use to hit the Bludgers with, and the point of the Bludgers is to, well, bludgeon things. If you’re trying to play a clean game of Quidditch, you use the Bludgers to hit the Quaffle out of someone’s hands or deter someone’s flight path instead of actually hitting anyone with the Bludger, because those things fucking hurt.”  
  
“And finally, there’s the Snitch. It’s this tiny flying gold ball, and it’s the Seeker’s job to find it. When they do, the match ends."   
  
Dom mutters a few spells at the parchment she’s been doodling on, and the image suddenly comes to life, the figures flying around while the three balls are in play.   
  
“That’s… complex,” I finally respond.  
  
“This is only the tip of the iceberg. You’re lucky I’m not trying to teach you all 700 possible fouls.”  
  
“Circe, that seems excessive.” I’m now convinced whoever invented Quidditch was just brainstorming the most complicated way to develop a sport and just rolled with it.   
  
“There was a game in the 1400s where they committed every single foul,” Dom replies. “Although you really don’t need to know that.”  
  
I nod, studying the figures flying around on the parchment.  
  
Dom can tell I’m still trying to make sense of it all. “It’ll make a lot more sense when you’re actually watching the game.”  
  
I hope she’s right about that.  
  
   
  


* * *

  
  
  
There’s a great deal of commotion the next morning at breakfast. Gryffindor is playing Slytherin today, so both of those Houses are completely decked out in House spirit. There’s a whole row of boys sitting at the Gryffindor table, each painted half red, half gold. One Slytherin has a giant stuffed snake wrapped around his entire body.  
  
Molly, Amelie, Dom, and I are sitting at the Ravenclaw table eating breakfast when the boys walk in. It’s odd not thinking of them as the “Fits,” since that’s the nickname I’ve heard used for them since fourth year, but I’ve learned that they all hate the name with a fiery passion and have thus attempted to stop using it.   
  
“Good morning, Quidditch fans!” I’m beginning to realize that James is almost too much of a morning person.   
  
“Since you four will obviously be supporting Gryffindor today, we come bearing gifts,” Simon announces.  
  
I watch as Simon throws a Gryffindor scarf around Amelie, and Fred shoves a lion hat onto Molly’s head. Alec gently wraps his scarf around Dom’s neck, using the opportunity to kiss her cheek in the process. James puts another Gryffindor scarf on me, and I can’t help but notice that it smells like him.   
  
“It’s gonna be the best Quidditch game you’ve seen in your whole damn life,” he tells me.  
  
“Well, considering I’ve seen zero, that’s a pretty low standard you’re setting there.”  
  
“Touché,” he smirks at me.  
  
“Fred, why the hell did everyone else get a scarf like a normal fucking person and I got this hat?” Molly questions, clearly noticing that the rest of us don’t have the same level of ridiculous attire as she does.  
  
“Because it just suits you so well, Molly dearest,” Fred teases.  
  
Molly grumbles a bit, but makes no effort to remove the hat. I have to admit that Fred has a bit of a point – it actually does look pretty good against her dark auburn hair. Well, as good as a giant lion-shaped hat can look on a person.  
  
The boys head over to the Gryffindor table to eat, leaving the four of us standing out quite starkly amongst the other Ravenclaws at the table. I can’t help but notice that all of the Royals are watching me, although they look away the moment I look over at them.  
  
   
  


* * *

  
  
  
When we head to the Quidditch pitch, the stands are already pretty packed. There’s a banner spread amongst the Gryffindors that reads, “Al Potter is Our Chosen One” and another that reads “James Potter for Pro Quidditch Player.”   
  
The Ravenclaw section is a little less packed, although there’s still a pretty high turnout given that our team isn’t actually playing today. Dom finds a few of the other Ravenclaw Quidditch players – I know their faces, but not their names or what positions they play – and we squish into their row.  
  
“Welcome to the first Quidditch match of the season, ladies and gentlemen!” A voice booms across the pitch. “I’m Cassie Long, and I’ll be providing the commentary for this game.”  
  
“First up, your Gryffindor team! We’ve got Chasers Fred Weasley, Violet Jones, and David Wright, Beaters Simon Crosby and Lacie Smith, Keeper and Captain James Potter, and Seeker Albus Potter!”   
  
The Gryffindor stands are going absolutely ballistic, and I cheer along with Dom every time they announce someone I know.  
  
Cassie begins to announce the Slytherin team, but I’m too distracted watching James on his broom to hear the names. He looks so completely relaxed, so completely in his element. There’s always a bit of tenseness to him when he’s on the ground, but that seems to be gone when he’s in the air.  
  
I need some sort of stress relief like that in my life.  
  
The match begins, and at first I find myself struggling to keep up with the game. There’s simply too many players and too much motion that it’s a bit overwhelming.  
  
“As a spectator, it’s easiest if you just follow the Quaffle,” Dom says. Apparently my confusion is evident on my face.  “And then you’ll eventually switch to focus on the Seekers when they start chasing after the Snitch.”   
  
I nod, focusing my attention on the red ball being thrown back and forth between Fred and Jones.  
  
The game gets easier to watch after that, and I find that, much to my surprise, I’m actually enjoying the game. I cheer loudly as James makes a block that I swear is going to result in him falling off his broom, but he just rolls and ends up upright again.  
  
“Another excellent block by James Potter! That boy is on fire today!” Cassie yells.  
  
The score is 70-20, with Gryffindor in the lead.  
  
The Quaffle is moving towards the Slytherin goal posts, and I watch as the Gryffindor Chasers execute some complicated formation to keep the ball away from the Slytherins.  
  
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing!?” Dom starts yelling from beside me. “The Quaffle’s on the other side of the field!”  
  
I follow her angry glare to a Slytherin Beater on the other side of the field.  
  
“See, that’s a classic example of dirty Quidditch,” Dom rants. “Aiming a Bludger at the Keeper when he’s literally doing nothing else. Scumbag.”  
  
James looks no worse for wear, although he’s also glaring at the Slytherin Beater.  
  
“And it appears that the Seekers have spotted the Snitch!”  
  
I look over, and sure enough, Al and the Slytherin Seeker are both flying at full speed towards the center of the pitch. Al is clearly the faster flyer, so it’s unsurprising when his hand closes around the Snitch and the Gryffindor stands go wild.  
  
“And there, you have it folks, Gryffindor wins the first match of the season, 220-30!”  
  
   
  


* * *

  
  
  
“We’re really meant to be going to the  _Gryffindor_ victory party?” I ask Dom and Molly as we walk up the stairs. “It seems like that’d be a little House-exclusive.”   
  
“And who in their right mind is going to tell us to leave? I’m related to like a quarter of Gryffindor House anyways.”   
  
“Fair point,” I shrug, and Molly tells the Fat Lady portrait the password.  
  
When we walk in the room, it’s clear that the party has been going on basically since the moment the match ended. Since there’s younger students in attendance, there’s no open bar like there is for Room of Requirement parties, but the older Gryffindors all have some sort of alcohol nonetheless.   
  
Dom immediately disappears to find Alec, leaving Molly and I to wade through the crowd of excited Gryffindors.  
  
“Abigail! Molly!”  
  
I look towards the source of the sound to discover James coming towards us with a huge smile on his face. He immediately scoops me into a huge bear hug, and then does the same with Molly. It’s clear that he’s in his overly-excitable phase of intoxication.  
  
He turns back to me and grabs onto my hands. “So what did you think of your first Quidditch match? Was it everything you dreamed it would be?”  
  
I laugh at that, as well as at the puppy-dog expression in his eyes. “I actually did enjoy it. Minus the whole Bludgers-flying-at-you-on-occasion thing, it looks like a lot of fun.”   
  
“It is,” James replies. “We’ll have to get you to try flying sometime.”  
  
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” I say. I did the mandatory flying lesson in first year, but I never really enjoyed the concept of hovering above the ground with nothing more than a stick of wood holding you up – I don’t think much will have changed since then.   
  
“It’s going to happen,” James says resolutely.    
  
I notice that Molly is watching James and I’s conversation with a curious expression on her face. I wonder if she’s of the same mindset as Dom is in regards to James and me.   
  
I notice that James is still holding both of my hands and looking at me rather intently. I pull them back, trying not to blush – it’s just friendly contact, after all – and try to come up with something else to say.   
  
I eventually settle on asking James if he’s got any spare alcohol.   
  
“Of course I do, let’s get you two something to drink,” James replies, bringing Molly back into the conversation now that we’re no longer in physical contact with one another.  
  
A few minutes later and we’re both clutching butterbeers, trying to fit ourselves onto the already-packed couches. Dom is sitting on Alec’s lap, Simon is trying to remain balanced on the arm of the couch despite being clearly pretty drunk, and Al and his girlfriend are sitting on top of the coffee table instead of on real seats.   
  
I end up half on top of Fred, and Molly opts for a space on the floor instead, complaining that Gryffindors are supposed to be chivalrous and therefore give up their seat for a lady.  
  
“Chivalrous, my ass,” Simon laughs. “Remember that one time Fred tried to get his Hogsmeade date to pay for both of their meals?”   
  
“I didn’t know what the protocol was back then!” Fred replies. “I was a third year on my first ever Hogsmeade date, give me a break!”  
  
“It was quite funny when she poured your butterbeer all over your head, though,” James adds.   
  
“I was thirteen!” Fred defends. “I’m not that shit with girls anymore!”  
  
“Says the boy who hasn’t been in a single real relationship,” Dom snaps, looking up from playing with Alec’s dirty-blonde hair.  
  
“What can I say,” Fred responds, throwing his one free hand that Isn’t trapped behind me up in the air. “I like to be a free agent.”  
  
Cecile gives Fred a calculating look from her spot next to Al. “I think, Fred Weasley, that you’re going to find someone, and when you do, you’re going to fall so hard you don’t even know what to do with yourself anymore.”  
  
Fred snorts. “Yeah, that’ll happen right around the time that grindylows start flying.”  
  
“You never know,” Cecile muses.   
  
We stay in the common room until it’s nearly empty, the last traces of celebrating students gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneak peek of chapter 18…
> 
> James lands next to me, laughing at my ungraceful landing. Although he’s much more steady on his feet than I am, he sits on the pitch next to me.
> 
> “Still just a one-time thing?” His eyes are sparkling with the last bits of sunlight.
> 
> “Maybe a few more times than that,” I finally admit, still breathless.


	18. Complication #18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Just once” is a dangerously difficult promise to keep.

I’m proofreading a Potions essay in the library when James walks up to the table. But instead of sitting down, he just stands there.  
  
“Can I help you?” I ask, looking up at him.  
  
“You can get up off your arse,” he replies simply. “We’re doing something much more fun than studying today.”  
  
“And that is…?”  
  
“You, Abigail Winchester, are going to learn how to fly.”  
  
Oh Merlin. I’d been wondering if James was ever going to bring his drunken promise to me back up.    
  
It’s not that I’m scared of flying, per se. I’ve never had a fear of heights, and my balance isn’t terrible. I just don’t like things that I’m not naturally good at and don’t have a lot of experience with, and flying is one of those things.   
  
“I’ve already learned how to fly. We all had that lesson in first year, remember?”  
  
James rolls his eyes at me. “That’s child’s play – flying is so much more than hovering five feet off the ground and calling it a day."   
  
“But I have Potions work to do,” I add, gesturing to my essay.  
  
“That essay isn’t due until next week, and you’re already done with it, so don’t give me that excuse.” James is looking at me like I’m a kid caught stealing from the cookie jar. “Just come fly with me, just this once, and if you hate it I’ll never make you get on a broom ever again.”  
  
I sigh. “One time, that’s all.”  
  
He smirks. “You say that now.”  
  
   
  


* * *

  
  
  
I’m thankful I brought my cloak with me, because there’s a chill in the November air, even though the sun is still out. The cloak combined with a couple Heating Charms means that I’m not shivering as I straddle the Hogwarts school broom I’m meant to be flying. I've had to use a sticking charm on my skirt to ensure that it doesn't fly up when I'm up in the air, and it's not exactly a comfortable sensation.  
  
James is in front of me on his own broom. “Just kick off from the ground and let the broom lift you up.”   
  
This really feels entirely unnatural. But I do as he says, and sure enough, I find myself hovering a few inches off the ground.   
  
“There you go! Now come up a little higher.”   
  
I pull up on the broom, and it takes me up a few more feet.   
  
“See? There’s nothing to be afraid of!” James looks delighted.  
  
“I never said I was scared of flying, Potter,” I respond, starting to feel a bit more comfortable with being in the air. “I just said I didn’t like it.”  
  
“Well, that’s because you’re not going anywhere,” he replies. “It’s different when you’re in motion.”  
  
“I doubt it.”  
  
“You’ll see. Anyways, steering is pretty self-explanatory; lean into whichever way you want to go, and just resist it to stop.”  
  
I lean forward as directed, and start to move. I actually don’t hate the sensation, until I hear James start laughing hysterically.   
  
“You look,” he gasps in between laughs, “like a kid – on a toy broom – moving around – 2 feet off the ground – going that slow – Merlin – that’s golden.”   
  
I frown at him, before lowering myself down to the ground. I don’t appreciate being laughed at.   
  
“No, Abigail, don’t be like that. It was cute.”  
  
I also don’t particularly like being referred to as “cute,” but I’m also not about to run away from the situation – partially because I’m pretty sure James would find a way to drag me back here anyways. So, I pick the next best option, which is to kick off the ground as hard as I can, sending myself far above where James is hovering.  
  
Adrenaline hits my bloodstream, and I fly forward, much faster than before. I look down at James, who’s watching me from the same spot with an amused expression.  
  
When I swoop down to his level, he’s smirking at me. “You like it. You like flying, admit it.”  
  
My heart is pounding in my chest and all my Heating Charms have worn off, but I feel irresistibly happy. I hate that James is winning this one – I blame endorphins.   
  
 “Ok, fine. This is sort of fun.”   
  
“Alright then. Let’s fly.”  
  
James takes off upwards, and I do my best to follow him. He’s both a much more experienced flyer and on a way better broom than mine, so it’s clear that he’s going a little slower than normal so that I can keep up with him.   
  
There’s something about the late afternoon sun, the wind in my hair, and the rush of excitement from being up this high that makes it feel like nothing else matters. I’m starting to understand why James looks like he’s in his own little world when he’s flying – this feels magical.   
  
Well, it literally  _is_ magical, given the flying broom and all, but this is somehow more magical than usual.  
  
I could stay up here forever.  
  
When we finally land on the grassy pitch, I feel like a totally different person. I feel weightless.  
  
My legs agree with that sensation, and my attempt to take a step forwards turns into me falling on my bum and trying to act like sitting down on the pitch was an intentional decision.  
  
James lands next to me, laughing a little at my ungraceful landing. Although he’s much more steady on his feet than I am, he sits on the pitch next to me.   
  
“Still just a one-time thing?” His eyes are sparkling with the last bits of sunlight.  
  
“Maybe a few more times than that,” I finally admit, still breathless.  
  
   
  


* * *

  
  
  
Sunday morning breakfast is a messy affair. For some reason, every single Potter/Weasley and all of their friends have decided to sit at the Gryffindor table. The table is packed and a number of Gryffindors have been forced to seek refuge at another House’s table.   
  
“Oi, Rose! Can you pass the jam?” Lily asks. She’s sitting right across from me, along with Roxanne Weasley.   
  
They’re both Gryffindor fourth years, and I can’t help but think that James’s and Fred’s parents must have coordinated with each other to somehow have two sets of kids the exact same age.   
  
“I’m literally two seats away from you, there’s no need to yell,” Rose replies calmly, passing the requested jam to her cousin.   
  
“It’s loud in here – I wanted to make sure you heard me.”  
  
It’s not that the Great Hall is any louder than usual, it’s just that putting all of the Potters and Weasleys at one table really makes you realize that they’re the ones making the majority of the noise anyways. The Gryffindor table is in complete bedlam at the moment.  
  
Our seating arrangement is also incredibly odd. Lily and Roxanne are across from me, Al is on my left followed by Rose and Scorpius Malfoy, and Fred is to my right, separating me and Dom. I feel like I’m gradually being forced to get to know the entire Potter/Weasley population.   
  
“So I heard you’re not entirely rubbish at flying.” I look over to see Fred Weasley giving me what can only be described as a shit-eating grin.  
  
“Apparently not,” I reply, reaching across him to grab a pastry.    
  
“You’re a surprising one, you know that?”  
  
I take a bite of my pastry and consider this.  
  
He continues talking. “I mean, if you’d told me at the start of the year that I’d be sitting next to you at breakfast because we’re pretty much mates now and we'd be talking about your flying skills, I’d have assumed you’d taken one too many Confusion Draughts.”  
  
Me too, Freddy. Me too.   
  
But at the same time, I feel more like myself than I have in a long time. I don’t feel like I’m constantly pretending to be two different people. I’ve already had my flaws (literally) etched across my forehead, so there’s not much incentive to hold anything back anymore.  
  
If this happens to be the real me under the layers of gossip and impeccable fashion sense (although I’ve still got that part), I’m not entirely upset about it.  
  
I also realize that this is the first time Fred has referred to me as a friend. Of the four boys, Fred is the one I feel the most distant from. Alec respects me for keeping his and Dom’s secret, Simon is apparently just a naturally trusting person, and James – well, James and I obviously have our own history. So the fact that he’s now referred to me as his mate feels like something significant.  
  
“I’ve surprised myself, honestly. Still not entirely sure how I got tangled up with you lot – you’re quite a bit to handle.” I say the last few words with a smirk.  
  
“Hear, hear,” Fred replies, before proving my point by chucking a pastry at his sister.  
  
She yells in protest, but I don’t quite hear his response. I’m distracted by a letter that has landed in front of me, written in loopy cursive.   
  
I open it up, scanning its contents.

  
  
_Hi Abigail!_   
  
_I’m so sorry it’s taken me so long to write you – I’ve been a bit over my head lately. Wedding planning is wild! On that note, I’m so sorry that you found out about your father and I’s engagement on the platform like that. I would’ve liked to tell you over breakfast, but given the rush we were in, it just didn’t happen._   
  
_We’ve officially settled on a date:  April 23. We intentionally picked the second Saturday of your Easter holidays so that you could be there. I also wish I could ask you this next question in person, but given how quickly I need an answer, that just wasn’t a possibility. Will you be a bridesmaid? We’d love to have you in the wedding in whatever way possible._   
  
_You’ll get to pick your own dress based on the color palette – I know that’s important to you._   
  
_You’re also more than welcome to bring Blaise as your plus-one; I’m assuming you’ll want someone else your age around, since the majority of the other invitees are your father and I’s age._   
  
_Let me know if you’re willing to be a bridesmaid within the week, please!_   
  
_Love, Diana_

  
  
Well, this is unexpected.  
  
I’d almost blocked my father and Diana’s engagement out of my mind, mostly because it was a part of that awful confrontation on the platform.  
  
But I know instantly that I’ll agree to her request. There’s a little part of me that’s always wanted to be a bridesmaid – I can’t say I expected first bridesmaid role to be for my father’s wedding, but I want the spot nonetheless.  
  
My heart drops a little at the mention of Blaise; I guess that’s someone else I’ll have to explain the termination of my relationship to. I just hope she doesn’t ask too many questions, because I’d prefer to avoid going into the “why” of that break-up if at all possible.  
  
I’m torn away from my thoughts, however, by Al and Rose loudly arguing over who gets the last piece of bacon.  
   
  


* * *

  
  
I write my reply to Diana that afternoon.

  
  
_Diana –_   
  
_I’d be honored to be one of your bridesmaids. Just let me know what color dress to look for and I’m on it._   
  
_Blaise won’t be coming; we’ve had a bit of a falling out and it doesn’t look like we’ll be getting back together anytime soon. As of now, I don’t think I’ll be bringing anyone as a date._   
  
_See you at Christmastime._   
  
_Abigail_

  
  
I scan over the letter, re-reading my own words. It’s short and to-the-point, and doesn’t go into much more detail than necessary. I’m sure Diana will have a ton of questions when I come back over the holidays – she’s always been more chatty than either of my parents. But for now, vague is good.  
  
I also consider my options as far as dates go. In the aftermath of the Blaise situation, I’m not exactly a hot commodity around Hogwarts.   
  
Granted, I know I could probably convince any red-blooded bloke to go to the wedding with me if I promised him he’d get a snog out of it – I haven’t gotten any less attractive, after all – but I don’t really fancy taking a random bloke to my father’s wedding. That just feels odd.  
  
I guess I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneak peek of chapter 19… (Will I ever not use a questionable-when-taken-out-of-context Abigail/James interaction? Doubtful.)
> 
> “I actually don’t hate that idea,” I finally respond. “It’s just ridiculous enough that it might actually work.”
> 
> James smirks and does a weird fist-punching-into-the-air thing. “I’m good with ideas.”
> 
> I roll my eyes at his overconfidence. “So, if you’re so good with ideas, how do you suggest actually implementing it?” 
> 
> “See, that’s the easy part,” he replies. “Getting you to go along with it was the hardest part, because I figured you were just going to immediately call it dumb.” 
> 
> “I mean, it is dumb, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like it. I’m into the cheesy symbolism stuff.”


	19. Complication #19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The signs may all be pointing one way, but that doesn’t mean that that’s the way the chips will fall.

While we’re working on our latest Potions assignment, I can’t help but notice how blatantly obvious Molly and Davies have gotten in their flirting. She lights touches his arm when she turns to speak to him, and he brushes a piece of hair away from her face while her cheeks flush.  
  
Dom is apparently thinking the same thing.  
  
“If one of them doesn’t make a move soon, I’m seriously going to lose it,” she says under her breath.  
  
I turn back to her. “You could always give her an ultimatum.”  
  
A smile breaks out on Dom’s face. “Devious. I like it. Tell me more.”  
  
“Just tell her that if she doesn’t make a move herself within the week you’re actually going to shove the two of them in a broom closet.”  
  
Her eyes sparkle as she puts this plan together in her mind. “She can tell him after the Quidditch match this weekend. Ravenclaw’s going to win if it’s the last thing I do, so we can just drag her to the after party because he’ll definitely be there, and – boom. Done.”  
  
She looks incredibly satisfied with herself as she turns her attention back to her potion.  
  
True to her word, she brings up the ultimatum to Molly almost immediately after class. The three of us, plus Amelie, have taken over an extraordinarily plush set of chairs in the Hufflepuff common room.  
  
“Abigail and I have an ultimatum for you,” Dom announces, grinning at Molly.   
  
Molly pales a little. “Oh Merlin, this is about Michael, isn’t it?”   
  
“You bet your last Knut it is,” Dom replies. “It’s obvious you two both fancy the shit out of each other.”  
  
“I’ve been waiting for him to make the first move,” Molly mumbles.  
  
“It’s the 21st century, Molly!” Amelie joins in, clearly in agreement with Dom and I’s plan. “Girls can ask a bloke out, especially when said bloke has asked you out multiple times in the past and probably doesn’t want to ask again because he thinks you’ll reject him again!”  
  
“She has a point,” I note, looking at Molly.  
  
“So what’s this ultimatum?”   
  
“You’re going to ask Davies out at the Quidditch victory party on Saturday,” Dom explains. “I’m pretty much positive that Ravenclaw is better than Hufflepuff this year – no offense – so he’ll be at the victory party and you can show up and tell him how you feel and you two can snog and live happily ever after.”  
  
Molly blushes a little. “So what’s the actual ultimatum part of this?”  
  
“If you don’t do it yourself, I’ll shove you two in a broom closet until I get the same result.”  
  
“That’s against the rules.” She senses Dom’s glare and quickly amends herself. “Alright, fine, I’ll do it at the  party.”  
  
“Yes!” Dom high-fives Amelie and me.  
  
“If I’m going to do this though, I’d appreciate a little guidance,” she adds. “I’ve never actually asked out a bloke before, so I don’t know what I’m doing.”  
  
“I’m of no help,” Dom says immediately. “Alec just told me he fancied me on the first day back and I just started snogging him in response, no confession of feelings involved.”  
  
“And my only romantic experience is with a boy I started dating in second year, and I’m pretty sure the rules that apply to 12-year-olds are different from the ones for 17-year-olds,” I add.  
  
“Well, and James,” Amelie adds.  
  
I let out something akin to a snort. “There was nothing romantic about that.”  
  
Amelie nods, then looks back at Molly. “I asked Simon to Hogsmeade that one time in fourth year, but, I mean, that was just me telling the bloke that all his friends had dates and that I’d be more fun to hang out with than a random bird.”  
  
“You lot are hopeless,” Molly says, but there’s a smile on her face as she says it.   
  
A few moments later, and much quieter, she adds, “But what if he says no? What am I supposed to do after that?”   
  
We’re all silent for a few moments.   
  
“If there’s one thing I’ve learned this year, it’s that life goes on even when you think it won’t,” I finally answer.  
  
Molly responds by hugging me.  
  
“Not to mention that he’s a complete twat if he says no after all that flirting you two have been doing,” Dom adds, immediately lightening the mood.  
  
   
  


* * *

  
  
  
Sometimes James and I are still capable of studying in complete silence in the library. Other days, he arrives and immediately wants to chat.   
  
Today is apparently one of the latter.  
  
“I have a solution for you.” James sits down and starts to pull his books out, giving me a few seconds to figure out what he’s talking about.   
  
“You’re going to have to be more specific than that.”  
  
“It’s a little unorthodox, but hear me out.”  
  
“That would require me knowing what you’re talking about in the first place.” It’s surprising how naturally our banter has transitioned from aggressive to the playful variety.  
  
He folds his hands on the table. “When we were drinking, you said you felt like the old Abigail, the one before all of this, was basically a totally different person, right?”  
  
I nod.  
  
“And you’re still trying to figure out how to be this new version of yourself?”  
  
I nod again. He has an impressive memory for someone who’d consumed two-thirds of a bottle of firewhiskey when the conversation at hand occurred.   
  
“Well, why don’t you actually become a new version of yourself?”   
  
“I’m… not following.”   
  
“And you’re supposed to be a Ravenclaw.” He shakes his head like he’s ashamed of me, but he’s smirking a little. “So the old Abigail is dead. The new Abigail isn’t really Abigail anymore, so you need to somehow reflect that change in something more permanent than just the changes inside your head.”  
  
“… yes.”   
  
“So don’t be Abigail anymore. Be Abby.”  
  
I stare at him.  
  
He explains further. “If you’re trying to find some sort of easy way to reflect that you’re a new person now – and I get the feeling you’re not the type of bird who’s going to chop all of her hair off after a breakup – what better way to do it than to change your name? It’s symbolism and all that shit.”   
  
I consider this. I haven’t once in my life gone by any sort of nickname; even when I was little, my parents still called me by my full name.  
  
Abby is different. Even though it’s literally just a shortened version of my name, it feels miles apart from the more formal tone that Abigail has. His idea is just ridiculous enough that I feel like it might work.   
  
“I actually don’t hate that idea,” I finally respond. “It’s just ridiculous enough that it might actually work.”  
  
James smirks and does a weird fist-punching-into-the-air thing. “I’m good with ideas.”   
  
I roll my eyes at his overconfidence. “So, if you’re so good with ideas, how do you suggest actually implementing it?”  
  
“See, that’s the easy part,” he replies. “Getting you to go along with it was the hardest part, because I figured you were just going to immediately call it dumb.”   
  
“I mean, it is dumb, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like it. I’m into the cheesy symbolism stuff.”   
  
It’s true. I went for the cheesy symbolism of Blaise and I’s first time with the candles and rose petals – or the attempted first time, before coming back to Hogwarts – and I went for the cheesy symbolism of waltzing into the Great Hall with the word  _SLAG_ written on my forehead to show that I wasn’t going to let people’s gossip affect me. Clearly, I’ve read too many novels.   
  
“All that has to happen is for me to start calling you Abby,” he explains. “My family fucking loves nicknames – no one likes saying a full name if it’s more than two syllables. Seriously, no one has said my Aunt Ang’s full name at any point that I can remember. So the moment I use it, everyone else will start to as well.”   
  
I shrug. “Seems easy enough.”   
  
“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a plan, Abby,” he says, grinning at me when he uses my ‘new’ name.  
  
I like the sound of it.  
  
He reaches into his bag and pulls out a textbook. “Now, can you please explain to me how the hell Inferi work?”  
  
   
  


* * *

  
  
  
Sure enough, James is entirely correct about how easy it is to get the Potter/Weasley clan to pick up on my ‘change of name.’ All he does is yell “Oi, Abby!” in the Great Hall when I walk in the next morning, and by the end of the day, I haven’t heard a single one of them refer to me as Abigail.  
  
I really like it - it just feels right.  
  
The rest of the week passes by in a blur, although Dom is significantly more stressed out than usual due to the impending Quidditch match. She may be confident that Ravenclaw is the better team, but that doesn’t mean she’s not panicking that Andrew Bligh won’t catch the Snitch in time or that Leslie Williams will fall off her broom trying to execute a trick play that’s too advanced for her.  
  
I still have only a very basic knowledge of Quidditch, so I only partially understand these concerns when she voices them to me.  
  
On the day of the match, however, she’s almost giddy with excitement. To the point that she’s basically skipping down to breakfast.  
  
She sits with her team, and I find myself at the Gryffindor table between Alec and James.  
  
“So, which team are you lot supporting today?” I ask the four Gryffindors around me.  
  
“Ravenclaw,” Simon replies through a mouthful of eggs. Attractive.  
  
“Although really, Hufflepuff winning gives us a better chance at the Cup,” Fred adds. “But I’m positive Dom would kill all of us if we didn’t support her team.”  
  
I laugh. “She definitely would.”  
  
At the match, the boys sneak into the Ravenclaw stands. The stands are also filled with a majority of the actual Ravenclaws, so we’re more than a little squished.  
  
And then at the same time, all four boys take their jumpers off to reveal that they’ve painted their chests blue and bronze. Alec even wrote Dom’s name on his. Well, you can’t say they don’t have Ravenclaw spirit, even if it’s only confined to this game.  
  
This action, however, puts me in an incredibly compromising position, because our cramped situation means that my back is right against James. Who’s currently shirtless.   
  
I find myself especially focused on this particular Quidditch game, since it’s just about the only distraction I have from the realization that there is definitely some residual sexual tension here.   
  
Curse you, hormones.  
  
   
  


* * *

  
  
  
As Dom predicted, Ravenclaw won the match handily. The Ravenclaw Seeker caught the Snitch first, and none of her Chasers fell off their brooms - her concerns were unfounded. The real kicker was when Dom managed to use a well-aimed Bludger to cause two of the Hufflepuff Chasers to collide with each other.   
  
“Seriously, Dom’s Beating skills are brilliant,” Simon says, for probably the fifth time today, as we walk back up to the castle. “There’s no way she doesn’t get scouted to play professionally.”   
  
“She’s already gotten a few tryout offers,” Alec replies, with a look of pride on his face.   
  
The boys still aren’t wearing shirts, and I’m not entirely sure how they’re not all freezing to death now that they don’t have the benefit of shared body heat like they did in the stands.  
  
“So are we crashing the Ravenclaw victory party?” Fred asks.   
  
“Obviously,” James responds. I can’t look at him right now for fear of accidentally blushing.  
  
“I’d advise that you put shirts on before you do that,” I say, looking nowhere in particular.  
  
“What? You’re not enjoying the show?” James shoots back.  
  
Merlin, now I actually am blushing.  
  
I roll my eyes, trying to play it off. “As much fun as hanging around four shirtless blokes is, you’ll probably freeze to death if you spend the whole evening like that.”  
  
The Ravenclaw common room is annoyingly drafty, so I actually have a point.  
  
The boys know it too. “Yeah, don’t worry, we’re going to go put on real clothes,” Simon says.  
  
We part ways as I head to Ravenclaw Tower and they head to Gryffindor.  
  
When I answer the knocker’s riddle and walk into the Common Room, the victory party is already in full swing. Dom’s standing on a table, taking a pull from a firewhiskey bottle as the rest of the team counts how many seconds she can drink it for.  
  
I find Molly and Amelie standing to the side, watching Dom with amused expressions.   
  
Well, Amelie looks amused. Molly looks like she’s about to be sick.  
  
I walk up to them. “So I take it you still haven’t talked to Davies yet?”  
  
“I’m going to need a drink before that,” she replies.   
  
“I’m sure Dom can help with that.”  
  
“Oi, Dom!” Amelie yells. “Get your cousin some alcohol!”  
  
Dom looks giddy. She hops off the table and thrusts the bottle into Molly’s hands. “A little liquid courage for you.”  
  
Molly takes a swig and shudders at the taste. She then hands the bottle back to Dom and walks away.  
  
“No time like the present, I guess,” Amelie muses, watching Molly scan the crowd.  
  
“Good for her,” Dom adds. “Now if you’ll excuse me, my very attractive boyfriend just walked in holding flowers and I’d very much like to snog him at this point in time.”   
  
She also walks away, leaving just me and Amelie.  
  
“I take it we’re going to spy on them?” I ask her.  
  
Amelie looks mildly horrified for a moment, then bursts out laughing.   
  
“Oh Merlin!” she says once she stops laughing. “At first I thought you were suggesting spying on Dom and Alec, and I was seriously concerned for your sanity. No one needs to see that.”  
  
“Godric, no,” I reply. “I’ve already witnessed them snogging enough. Let’s go find Molly and Davies and stand at a distance and watch the conversation unfold.”   
  
We do just that, positioning ourselves about 3 metres from where the two are. We can’t hear the actual conversation given the volume of the room and the fact that we’re trying to be at least somewhat subtle.   
  
Thus far, it looks like they’re just explaining pleasantries. Then Molly takes a deep breath, and starts to play with the ends of her plaited hair. She says something, and waits for him to respond.   
  
Suddenly, her face falls. She nods, touches him lightly on the arm, and walks away.  
  
“Bugger,” Amelie says. “I really thought he liked her back.”  
  
“So did I,” I respond, confused by his reaction. He’s been so obviously flirting with her in Potions class – what changed?  
  
We see Molly leave the common room, and Amelie and I look at one another, silently agreeing that we need to follow her and comfort her.  
  
As we’re leaving the room, I make eye contact with James. He tries to wave me over, but I gesture to Amelie, who’s halfway out the door, and mouth the word “sorry.”  
  
I can’t deny that I’m a little happy I’m spending the evening chasing after Molly, because at least then it guarantees I won’t do anything stupid with James.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneak peek of chapter 20… 
> 
> “This is literally what the Room of Requirement was made for – besides interventions and parties, of course – and I’ve got a bottle of elf-made wine and a shit ton of Honeydukes chocolates in my trunk that are just begging to be used for this kind of event,” Dom announces at breakfast.
> 
> “Oi, I want in on this!”
> 
> “It’s a girls’ night, Fred,” Amelie shoots back. “You are categorically disqualified from participating.”
> 
> He pouts in response.


	20. Complication #20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delusions of grandeur can easily cloud proper judgment.

Apparently, Michael Davies had told Molly that he no longer fancies her the way he did for the past three years.  
  
Personally, I think that’s rubbish, because you don’t flirt like that with someone you don’t fancy. I mentally plan to corner Davies at some point and figure out why he decided to reject a girl he obviously has feelings for.  
  
Once Dom learns what happened the next day, she immediately demands that we have a girls’ night to cheer Molly up.  
  
“This is literally what the Room of Requirement was made for – besides interventions and parties, of course – and I’ve got a bottle of elf-made wine and a shit ton of Honeydukes chocolate in my trunk that are just begging to be used for this kind of event,” she announces at breakfast.   
  
“Oi, I want in on this!”   
  
“It’s a girls’ night, Fred,” Amelie shoots back. “You are categorically disqualified from participating.”  
  
He pouts in response.  
  
That’s how we end up in the Room of Requirement that evening, all spread out on what has to be the largest mattress I’ve ever seen.  
  
There’s a ton of colorful blankets and pillows, and all of us are dressed in our pyjamas. Needless to say, we got a few odd looks walking here dressed like this in the late afternoon.   
  
In addition to Molly and Amelie, Dom also invited Rose, Cecile, Roxanne, Lily, and Roxanne and Lily’s best friend Verity – all of whom also brought their own candy stash – so there’s an extraordinary amount of sweets being passed between us.  
  
Dom has also announced that any discussion of boys is entirely off limits, so the topic of discussion is currently based around which candy in Honeydukes’ newest line is the best.  
  
“You’re mental if you really think that Floundering Flobberworms are any good. They’re still fucking flailing when you put them in your mouth!”  
  
It’s somewhat heated.  
  
Dom turns to me. “Abby, tell Roxanne that she’s out of her mind and that slimy, still-moving gummy worms are a shit idea, regardless of how good the flavor might be.”  
  
I look at Roxanne. “Yeah, I’m going to have to take Dom’s side on this. The texture is too much.” I’ve just tried one a few minutes ago and am still reliving the disturbing sensation of a candy worm slithering down my throat.  
  
“More for me, then,” Roxanne replies, popping a bright pink worm into her mouth.  
  
The topic somehow switches from candy to books, but it’s just as heated. And I have many more opinions about books than I do about candy.  
  
“Are you serious!?  _Pride and Prejudice_ is a classic!” I’m more than a little defensive of one of my favourite books of all time.  
  
“It’s also terribly clichéd! It’s centered around a man turning from an egotistical jerk into a lovesick puppy, which is, you know,  _so_ realistic, and makes a bunch of girls have these ridiculously high expectations that they too can find their own Mr. Darcy.” Rose is clearly a skeptic when it comes to love.   
  
“It’s fiction!” I argue. “It doesn’t have to be completely realistic! It’s a beautiful story.”  
  
I’d be lying if I said I’m not bit of a romantic.  
  
“I still think  _1984_ is a much better book.”  
  
“Yeah, if you’re reading to terrify yourself instead of reading for pleasure.” Bless Dom for having the same literature tastes as me.   
  
“Whatever,” Rose replies, throwing a Floundering Flobberworm at Dom and accidentally initiating a massive candy fight.  
  
   
  


* * *

  
  
  
Molly’s in a much better mood by Monday morning. I’m still determined to track down Davies at some point, but I’m also trying to avoid Blaise, and given that the two share a dormitory, it’s harder than I expected.  
  
“Any idea what we’re supposed to be working on in Defence today?” she asks as we’re walking to the class in question.  
  
I hum, thinking. “Wright mentioned something about Shield Charms last class? Maybe it’s that?”   
  
“Ugh, I swear we spend entirely too much time practicing those,” Amelie groans.  
  
“Yeah, but it is Defence, and Shield Charms are one of the most important defensive tools in the magical arsenal,” I reply. I actually really love working on Shield Charms – mostly because mine’s rather impressive.  
  
“They’re still bloody annoying though,” Molly adds, and Amelie concurs.  
  
Sure enough, we are practicing Shield Charms today.  
  
“Partner up, students!” Professor Wright says. “And I want you to find a different partner than normal today. Every person’s magic interacts with a Shield Charm slightly differently, so the more exposure you have to different partners, the better.”   
  
I look over at the Hufflepuff next to me that I’ve been partnering with recently, and he looks somewhat relieved. Defence is probably my best subject, and I think he’s quite sick of getting shown up by me every time we do anything in pairs.   
  
“Ready to that I’m just as miserable at practical Defence as I am at the theoretical stuff?” I look up to see that James is standing directly in front of me, smirking.  
  
“You made it to NEWT level, clearly you’re not  _that_ bad,” I respond.  
  
“You say that now.”   
  
We find an empty space in the classroom, standing next to Alec and Molly.  
  
“Remember, when you’re trying to break your partner’s Shield, use Disarming spells only!” Wright announces before anyone can start waving their wands. “If you break through, I’d like to minimize the damage.”  
  
He makes that announcement because apparently earlier this term a fifth year thought using  _Reducto_ would be a good idea. It broke through his partner’s Shield Charm and, unsurprisingly, exploded a desk or two.  
  
The boy definitely wasn’t a Ravenclaw, that’s for sure.  
  
“Alright, I’ll block first,” I tell James.  
  
He shrugs. “Okay.”  
  
I put up my Shield Charm, and sure enough, it holds steady. James tries to hit it about five times before giving up and telling me to try on him.  
  
His Shield survives my first attempt at disarming, but the second  _Expelliarmus_ sends his wand flying into my hand.  
  
“See?” he says. “Miserable.”  
  
He’s smiling, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. I know that this is a bit of a sore spot for him.  
  
“You’re just not putting enough focus into it,” I reply, trying to help. “You’ve got to hold up the Shield by continually concentrating on blocking everything out, not just saying the incantation and hoping for the best. Just think about slamming a door shut and holding it there, even when someone starts pushing from the other side.”  
  
Maybe I’m so good at Shield Charms because I’m so good at putting up walls in my mind too.   
  
“That’s… a pretty decent metaphor,” James says after brief consideration.  
  
I grin at him. “I know. Now let’s try this again, shall we?”  
  
He puts up his Shield, taking on a look of intense concentration as he does so. I almost want to laugh – his furrowed brow is somewhat adorable – but instead I start casting spells. Sure enough, they all bounce off.  
  
“Impressive, Mr. Potter!” Professor Wright says, walking up to the two of us after James lets his Shield down. “That’s the kind of concentration I like to see!”  
  
He shrugs, back to his normal relaxed expression. “Guess I’ve just got a good partner today, is all.”  
  
Professor Wright looks over at me and smiles. Of all the Hogwarts professors, he’s my favourite – mostly just because he teaches my favourite subject. “Ah, Miss Winchester, wonderful performance as always.”   
  
He moves on to Alec and Molly before I even have a chance to thank him for the compliment.  
  
I look back at James. “My turn to block again?”  
  
This time, my Shield holds for the first four disarming attempts. Then James smirks at me, and it throws me off just a tiny bit.  
  
My wand goes soaring into his hand on the next attempt.  
  
Bugger.  
  
“It appears we’re out of time!” Professor Wright announces. “No homework this week, just be prepared to go over deflecting strategies next week!”  
  
The classroom erupts into noisiness as everyone attempts to gather their things. James waits for me to pack up so he can give me my wand back, and I fall into step with him as we leave the classroom.   
  
“You do realize you do a better job explaining Defence things than Wright does, right?” James says. “You could probably give him a solid run for his money in his teaching position if you wanted to.”  
  
I laugh at that. “Could you imagine me as a professor though? I don’t think I have the patience to deal with a bunch of dumb 11-year-olds.”  
  
“You have a point. You’d probably hex their hair pink when they got on your nerves.” He nudges me playfully, reminding me of the time that I did the exact thing to him.  
  
I’m too distracted to come up with a witty reply to that, because ahead of us, I notice Blaise. Who looks incredibly annoyed. I try to avoid making eye contact, but it’s too late. Blaise walks up to the two of us, eyeing how close we’ve been walking.  
  
“Enjoying my sloppy seconds, Potter?”  
  
Even though he’s addressing James, Blaise is looking directly at me. His eyes feel like they’re boring a hole into my heart, and I want nothing more to do than to Disapparate right then and there.  
  
He’s ignored my existence for the past month,  _now_  he’s decided to start acknowledging me again? It’s strange, because I’ve done absolutely nothing to provoke him.  
  
“I really don’t think you ought to be saying that,” James says back, his voice lower than usual.  
  
“I think I can say whatever I want to about my cheating ex-girlfriend,” Blaise responds, almost conversationally. It’s the same casual cruelness that came out when he broke up with me – the kind that I never knew he was capable of until recently.   
  
I watch James clench and unclench his fists. “I know the truth, Halstead.”  
  
What is he talking about?   
  
“The truth about what?” Blaise snaps.    
  
Well, it's nice to know that Blaise doesn’t know either.  
  
I try not to notice the crowd of people watching this confrontation unfold. I also very much want to drag James away from this, because I don’t need him fighting my battles for me. Even if I don’t understand what this battle is about. But my feet feel like they’re glued to the floor.  
  
“The truth about that night – the night before we came back to Hogwarts.”  
  
I’m unintentionally reminded of my own experience that night. Of the late owl message and the shattered window and the crying myself to sleep. What does James know about that?   
  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Blaise’s upper lip twitches slightly.  
  
James takes a step forward. “I think you do. I was at the Three Broomsticks that night. I saw you there, and I saw you go upstairs. And I think Abby deserves to hear the truth from you.”  
  
Blaise sneers, an expression that looks out-of-place on his usually composed features. “You know this doesn’t absolve you, right? You still fucked my girlfriend.”  
  
“I don’t give a damn about me and my involvement in this situation at the present moment. Tell her what you were doing that night, or so help me Merlin I will hex you into next week,” James growls.  
  
James and Blaise are standing eye-to-eye, and I’m convinced that one of them is about to punch the other. Instead, Blaise steps back and turns to me.  
  
“Fine. Your little knight-in-shining-armour here wants me to tell you the truth. The truth is that you were holding out on me for far too long. I’m a man with needs. You weren’t fulfilling them, but Scarlett was more than willing. So I let her.”  
  
As the words come out of his mouth, time starts to move in slow motion. It’s like my whole world is shattering for a second time.    
  
Blaise was missing that night because he was having sex with my former best friend instead of me. He’d done it with her more than once. He cheated on me first.  
  
There’s a massive influx of emotions floating around my brain right now – hurt, anger, betrayal, sadness – but one wins out. Pure rage.  
  
“How dare you,” I whisper, finding my voice and steadily getting louder. “ _How dare you_. I cheated on you once – which I felt miserable for, by the way – and you painted yourself as the victim. You acted like I’d broken your heart and done some horrible, unforgivable thing to you. When in reality, you’d been doing the same thing to me for Godric knows how long.”   
  
I’m breathing heavy and my heart is pounding in my chest. I can acutely feel just how many people are watching this conversation. “You’re scum, Blaise Halstead. Actual scum.”  
  
It’s almost like an out-of-body experience as I watch my right hand reach up and slap him across the face, the sound of the  _SMACK_ reverberating throughout the corridor. I’ve never been the type of person to resort to physical violence, but the anger I’m feeling in this moment is also like nothing I’ve ever experienced before.   
  
My hand stings from the contact, and Blaise’s hands go up to cup his cheek. It wasn’t a gentle hit.  
  
I don’t see his reaction – I never want to see his face again, if I can help it.  
  
Instead, I turn on my heel and storm out of the corridor. The crowd of people that has been watching this conversation moves wordlessly out of my way.   
  
I’m only two corridors down – thankfully it’s an empty one – when I hear someone jogging to catch up to me.    
  
“That was a really solid hit back there - are you okay?”   
  
I turn around and look at James. Seeing his face causes the stinging at the back of my eyes to morph into full-fledged tears. If I was running on nothing but fury when talking to Blaise, now I’m running on nothing but hurt.  
  
“You knew,” I say, my voice cracking a little. “You knew about this, and you didn’t tell me?”  
  
James stops in his tracks, obviously not expecting that I’d also be mad at him for this.  
  
“Yes, but I didn’t think it was my place to tell you,” he replies, running a hand through his hair nervously. “You deserved to hear it from him.”   
  
I’m louder when I answer him this time. “This wasn’t the time for your idealistic, chivalry-driven, classically  _Gryffindor_  fantasies to come to life. I'm sure you just  _loved_  the idea of making him admit to what happened to my face, but did you ever once think about what not knowing did to me?”   
  
James looks at me, shocked. “I didn’t – “  
  
I take a deep breath, shaking. “You’re right, you didn’t. And it was killing me. The guilt of what I did to that boy was eating me alive from the inside out. Do you know how many nights I spent unable to fall asleep because I couldn’t stop thinking about what I did to him? How badly he made it seem like I’d hurt him? And while his wrongs definitely don’t make what I did right, I would’ve felt far less guilty for cheating on someone who’d already cheated on me than I did thinking I’d cheated on a boy who thought I was his whole world.”   
  
James at least has the decency to look ashamed. “Shit, Abby, I’m really sorry.”  
  
His apology doesn’t change how I feel right now. I’ve just been publicly humiliated for the second time this year; I still don’t understand the cruelty of the fact that both of these revelations had to happen for the entire population of Hogwarts to witness.  
  
My response comes out cold, the wall that I just let down building itself up again. “I don’t want to hear it, Potter."   
  
With that, I run away. I can’t tell if he makes an attempt to follow me or not.  
  
I get to Ravenclaw Tower, taking the stairs two at a time to get up to my dormitory. I catch a glance of myself in the mirror – I’ve got bloodshot eyes and mascara trails down my cheeks. In any other state of mind, I’d be horrified that I look like this. But right now, I can’t be bothered.   
  
I do the only thing I can think to do in this moment: close the curtains around my bed and sob into my pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneak peek of chapter 21…
> 
> “I don’t know what came over me,” I admit. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so angry in my life.”
> 
> “You had a right to be. Hell, if someone did that to me, I don’t think I would’ve been able to stop at a single slap. I would’ve tried to beat their ass into the ground.”
> 
> That doesn’t surprise me at all. I have a feeling Dom could easily take down almost any guy if provoked enough. She is a Beater, after all.


	21. Complication #21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Forgiveness may be possible, but it takes time.

Dom finds me first, an indeterminate amount of time later. I'm still face down on my pillow, but I feel her sit on the bed beside me.

“Oh, honey,” she says, putting her hand on my shoulder.  
  
I roll to the side to look up at her. “Did you know?”   
  
“Merlin, no,” she replies. “If I did I would’ve smacked some sense into James and made him tell you ages ago.”  
  
I can’t help but smile a little at that. I sit up and she gives me a hug.  
  
“So I take it the whole school knows what happened now?"   
  
“Pretty much. It was a pretty common topic of discussion at dinner, especially after Halstead walked in sporting a bright red cheek. Nice hit, by the way.”  
  
Godric, it’s already past dinnertime? I’ve been up here longer than I thought.   
  
“I don’t know what came over me,” I admit. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so angry in my life.”  
  
“You had a right to be. Hell, if someone did that to me, I don’t think I would’ve been able to stop at a single slap. I would’ve tried to beat their ass into the ground.”  
  
That doesn’t surprise me at all. I have a feeling Dom could easily take down almost any guy if provoked enough. She is a Beater, after all.  
  
“I just – I don’t understand how they can be like this,” I say after a few moments, my voice shaky. “Blaise was my boyfriend and Scarlett was my best friend, and they both turned on me and I don’t know why.”  
  
“Sometimes certain people are just like that,” she replies, sounding wise beyond her years. “They can be totally different people at the wave of a wand. It doesn’t make sense, and you’ll never really know what was going through their head at the time. The best you can do is pick your head up, live your life, and show them that they fucked with the wrong girl."   
  
That seems easier said than done.   
  
“I take it you also had a bit of an argument with James as well?” she asks, her voice a little softer now.   
  
At least that part of my afternoon didn’t have witnesses and therefore wasn’t spreading across Hogwarts like Fiendfyre.  
  
“I wouldn’t quite call it an argument, because that implies that there was more than one person yelling at the other one.”   
  
Dom laughs a little. “Yeah, he spent most of dinner just moodily staring at the food on his plate, so I figured something must have happened between you two afterwards.”   
  
I just nod.   
  
“I’m not going to tell you that you have to forgive him for what he did. He had no right keeping that a secret from you, regardless of whether or not he had some noble intention of protecting you.”   
  
I nod again. I’m not sure I can forgive James for what he did, at least not anytime soon, and I’m glad that Dom doesn’t expect me to. She may be capable of forgiving someone at the drop of a hat – I mean, she’s friends with me now even though I wasn’t exactly nice to her before this year – but I don’t think I have that same ability.  
  
“Thank you,” I finally respond.  
  
The door to the dormitory swings open, and I’m momentarily terrified that it’s going to be the Royals. I don't want to face any of them any time soon.  
  
Luckily, it’s actually Molly and Amelie. Carrying a tub of ice cream.  
  
“We come bearing gifts,” Amelie announces. She and Molly join Dom and I on my bed, handing spoons to all of us.  
  
I immediately dig into the ice cream. Now that my body has caught on to the fact that I missed dinner, I’m starving.   
  
Molly speaks first. “I still can’t believe Blaise tried to ruin your life over something he’d already done.”   
  
“I can believe it,” Amelie replies. “He’s always seemed like the type of person who’s not afraid to manipulate people to get what he wants and turn on them when they do something he doesn’t like. He’s always just been so schmoozy with teachers and the like.”   
  
I reflect on that. Amelie’s always struck me as highly perceptive, and her analysis of Blaise makes sense. Blaise has always seen himself as a businessman, and I think some of that ruthless nature must have crossed over into his personality.  
  
I just don’t understand how I never saw that before. I always thought he was nothing but sweet to me.  
  
“You’re awfully quiet, Abby,” Amelie comments, looking at me. “Are you dreaming up some complex revenge scheme?”  
  
“You could always just tell everyone that Blaise is terrible in bed or something,” Dom suggests, licking ice cream off her spoon.  
  
I shake my head. This is something I’d been thinking about for the past few hours, once I’d gotten my emotions in check.  
  
The old Abigail wouldn’t have hesitated to develop a flawless and completely ruthless plan for revenge that would humiliate Blaise and the Royals, particularly Scarlett. But how much would that really accomplish, anyways? Would I really be any better than them at that point?   
  
“I don’t think a revenge plan is in the cards this time,” I reply, scooping out another spoonful of ice cream. “I don't want to stoop to their level, you know?”   
  
Amelie nods. “Good for you.”   
  
“I’m just going to really hope karma comes back to bite them for it,” I add.  
  
I can’t be  _entirely_ noble.  
  
“Just let me know if you want me to hex them or something.” I’m shocked to hear the words come out of the Head Girl’s mouth.  
  
“Um, you know that’s against the rules, right, Molly?” I ask, looking over at her.   
  
She shrugs. “Sometimes you’ve just gotta say ‘fuck the rules,’ and I think a cheating ex-boyfriend and a rotten former friend are a pretty good justification.”  
  
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I reply, smiling a little.  
  
“Should I also hex James while I’m at it?” Molly’s looking at me curiously.  
  
I shake my head. “Out of anyone on your potential hex list, he’s probably lowest on the priority list. I don’t want to talk to him anytime soon, but if we’re looking at a scale of relativity of the awful things people have done to me lately, he’s nowhere near the worst.”   
  
There’s a moment of silence.  
  
“Oh, and by the way, no one’s going to call an intervention for this, I’m going to make sure of it,” Dom tells me, putting a hand on my shoulder. “If you ever want to talk to him again, you should do it one-on-one, not in front of my entire family.”  
  
I haven’t had a chance to consider that yet, but I’m grateful Dom has. I can’t imagine how I’d react to being in a room with 30 people and being expected to make up with James.  
  
There’s a part of me that wants nothing more than to get past this and let everything go back to normal, but I’ve also just been too hurt by him to let myself do that.  
  
   
  


* * *

  
  
  
As we’re walking down to breakfast the next morning, I realize a complication of my choice to stop talking to James.  
  
“So which table are we sitting at this morning?” Molly asks, wrapping a hair tie around her freshly plaited hair.   
  
“Gryffindor, as usual,” Dom replies quickly.  
  
“Are you sure that’s a good idea, with…?” Amelie trails off.   
  
“Oh, fuck, I didn’t think about that,” Dom says, looking over at me when she says it.  
  
She looks like she’s about to say something else, but I interrupt her. “You guys sit where you want to. I’m not about to let an issue that belongs to me and me alone affect your friendships, especially when you lot are family too.”   
  
Dom bites her lip. “Are you sure?”  
  
I nod. “Positive. Whenever you lot want to sit with James and Alec and that whole group, I can go sit with Rose or another one of your family members. You have a ton of them and they all seem to not hate me, so I’ll be fine.”  
  
She gives me a hug.   
  
When we walk into the Great Hall, the reaction isn’t unlike the last time I had to walk in here after a giant scandal exploded. A few students stop and look at me, but the majority look away quickly and occupy themselves with their breakfast instead.  
  
Dom, Molly, and Amelie sit with the boys, and I walk a little further down the table, securing a spot next to Rose.  
  
“Morning, Abby,” she says brightly, not bothering to ask why I’m choosing to sit with her, Al, and Scorpius.   
  
Scorpius Malfoy is an interesting person, as I’ve come to discover. He’s technically a Slytherin, but I really think the Sorting Hat was only paying attention to his last name when it came to that decision, because Scorpius is just about the farthest thing from the typical cunning Slytherin persona as one can get. And instead of spending time with his House, he’s somehow become best mates with Al and Rose.  
  
Although I’m pretty positive he wants to be more than best mates with Rose,because I’ve noticed him giving her a longing glance on more than one occasion.   
  
“My cousin’s staring at you, you know,” Rose adds, breaking me out of my musings about the blonde boy across from me.  
  
“Which one? You have a ton of them, you know.”  
  
Rose rolls her eyes at me. “You know which one. James.”  
  
“Oh,” I reply, the teasing tone in my voice gone. I stare at my plate, not wanting to risk making eye contact with him.  
  
“I’m sorry for what he did to you,” she says, her voice softer. “Potter boys are idiots.”  
  
“Hey now! Don’t make generalizations about all of us because my brother’s a dumbarse!” Al cries, indignant.  
  
Rose looks up at him. “Might I remind you that Cecile is cross with you right now because you told her that Quidditch practice was more important than a date you’d planned with her weeks in advance?”  
  
“I can’t help it that our stupid captain called an emergency practice after dinner last night,” he mumbles.  
  
“Still,” Rose presses, “you could’ve been a little more tactful about it.”  
  
The Great Hall gets slightly quieter, and I look up towards the entrance. I quickly figure out the reason: Scarlett and Brooke are walking in. Caroline isn’t with them, which I find odd.  
  
The way that the people in the Great Hall are looking at the Royals is different than before. They used to look at the Royals with a sort of reverence – I remember relishing the feeling of being in complete control of most of the school’s population. Now, they’re looking at Scarlett and Brooke with some sort of odd fascination.  
  
Perhaps sleeping with your best friend’s boyfriend isn’t exactly the greatest thing for your reputation. It’s on a pretty similar level as cheating on your boyfriend with someone you swore to dislike.   
  
Blaise also looks a little worse for wear when he eventually comes into the Hall. Because the world’s incredibly unfair like that, people don’t react the same way to the revelation that he cheated on me as they did when  they discovered that I cheated on him. Meaning he doesn't get socially ostracized by his friends. Regardless, I definitely catch a few girls giving him dirty looks.   
  
   
  


* * *

  
  
  
November turns into December, and it’s suddenly been a full week and a half since I last spoke to James. I can’t deny that there’s a part of me that misses him.  
  
At Saturday morning breakfast, I can’t help but notice that none of the boys are around, and Al is missing as well. When I ask Dom about it, she shrugs – Alec didn’t mention anything to her that would indicate why they’re all absent.   
  
When we leave breakfast, Dom heads to the library to grab a book, while Molly and Amelie head to the Hufflepuff dormitories to get their school bags. As a result, I’m alone walking up to Ravenclaw Tower.   
  
“Abby!” I look up to see Alec walking down the stairs.  
  
“Hey.”  
  
“James scheduled a Quidditch practice during breakfast because he’s apparently determined to train his team to death, and none of them bothered to wake me up before they left, so it appears I’ve missed breakfast.”  
  
Ah, that explains the absences.  
  
“Anyways, since I’ve run into you, can we talk?”   
  
I don’t give him an answer, but I also don’t walk away.  
  
This is apparently all the confirmation Alec needs to take a seat on one of the steps. After some consideration, I sit next to him, waiting to hear what he has to say. I’m almost positive it’s about James.   
  
“Look, I know you’re still mad at James.”   
  
Called it.  
  
“And I get it. You have every right to be mad. He shouldn’t have sat on that information. But you have to understand, he wasn’t doing it to hurt you. He genuinely thought he was doing the right thing by making sure you didn’t find out from anyone but Halstead himself, even if the timing of it was terrible. Blame his inherent Gryffindor gallantry, I don’t know.”  
  
He continues. “The point is, yeah, he fucked up. He’s also a 17-year-old bloke, and if you haven’t noticed already, we all have no idea what we’re doing when it comes to situations like this. You know, communication and all that shit. Half the time I’m terrified I’m going to say something stupid to Dom and she’s going to realize I’m a complete sod and walk out on me.”   
  
I think about the silly lovestruck grin Dom gets every time Alec’s name comes up in conversation. “I don’t really think that’s going to happen any time soon."   
  
Alec smiles. “I appreciate the vote of confidence. But just think about talking to James, yeah? He’s been a miserable git to be around ever since you two fought and he seems to be taking it out on his Quidditch team. If nothing else, consider it for their sake. I think Fred’s about to lose the last shred of sanity he had left.”  
  
Without giving me a chance to respond, he gets up from his spot on the stairs and starts heading to the kitchen, leaving me alone to consider what he said.  
  
I can’t deny that he has a point. I know James wasn’t intentionally trying to hurt me; he sure has a twisted sense of the right way to react to information like that, but he wasn’t doing it out of malice. Which is more than I can say for other people who have hurt me recently.  
  
He also didn’t really know what was going on inside my head. I hadn’t ever brought up just how guilty I’d still been feeling, so really, how was he to know what I’d been thinking? If nothing else, I’m still pretty good at masking my emotions when I want to, and I’d been doing just that.  
  
I’m still hesitant to forgive him, but Alec is right. I should at least talk to him.  
  
If only because I’m not sure Freddy can get any less sane and still be functioning.  
  
I’m hit with an idea, and I immediately jump off the stairs and start to run to Ravenclaw Tower in search of a spare piece of parchment.  
  
   
  


* * *

  
  
  
I feel borderline ridiculous standing alone in this massive room full of completely empty couches. Not to mention the  _INTERVENTION_ banner above my head. But this also seemed like the surest bet to get James to come talk to me.  
  
I stare down at my dress, wondering again if this was the best choice. It took me at least 10 outfit changes to settle on something I was satisfied with: a dark red sweater dress with bell sleeves, tights, and black ankle boots. I don’t even know why I’m nervous about what I’m wearing, because it has absolutely no bearing on the conversation itself, but somehow I am.   
  
At 3 pm on the dot, the door opens. In walks a freshly showered James – although his hair’s still sticking up weirdly in the back, despite the fact that it’s wet. He’s wearing a black short-sleeve T-shirt and jeans – I don’t understand how he’s not freezing given the temperature outside and the poorly insulated castle walls.   
  
He looks at the empty couches, confused, and then his eyes find me.  
  
“Where’s everyone else?” he asks.  
  
“It’s just me.”  
  
“Oh.” He puts his hands in the pockets of his jeans and looks at the floor.   
  
We stand there in silence for a few moments.   
  
Looking at him makes me realize that there’s no way I’m not going to forgive this boy. He really is an honest-to-Godric good person, even if he is also an idiot who makes bad choices about communicating with people.  
  
Which basically just means he’s an average teenage boy, really.  
  
“I’m sorry,” I begin, knowing that I’m bound to start rambling. “I know you were just trying to do what you thought was best and it all blew up at an inopportune moment, and I shouldn’t have gotten as angry at you as I did as a result. I’ve just – I’ve had a lot of secrets go badly for me this year, and I’m sick of them. Granted, you had no idea just how much not knowing the truth about Blaise was messing me up inside, but, yeah – just be a little more up-front in the future, please.”  
  
James stares at me for a few moments, running his hand through his hair and causing the back to stand up even more. In any other situation I’d probably laugh at him for it.   
  
“I really don’t think you’re the one that needs to be apologizing.” His voice is scratchy, likely because he spent the whole morning and into the afternoon yelling at his team at practice. “You were right. I didn’t think through what that information could’ve meant for you – could’ve saved you a whole lot of beating yourself up about cheating on a perfectly innocent bloke, because Halstead was actually a cheating bastard. I just wanted him to get payback for doing what he did, and making him admit to it to you was at least something. I’d just been waiting for the right time, and right there, when he spoke about you like that, seemed like the best option. I realize now that it really wasn’t.”  
  
I can’t help but smile a little and shake my head. “You really are the definition of a Gryffindor, aren’t you?”  
  
“Yeah, I guess I am,” he replies, matching my smile. Then he’s suddenly serious again. “But I really am sorry, Abby. No more secrets from now on.”  
  
I grin at him. “No more secrets.”  
  
I pause for a moment, then ask, “Friends?”  
  
“Friends,” he repeats, closing the gap between us and pulling me into a hug.  
  
I inhale deeply – since he’s just showered, the evergreen scent that I’m assuming he uses as body wash is particularly strong, and I can’t say I don’t enjoy it.   
  
After staying there for what Is probably entirely too long, James pulls away. “Let’s go flying, please. I’ve missed having someone to fly with.”  
  
I give him a look. “You’re the captain of an entire Quidditch team.”   
  
“Yeah, but you’re different.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s hoping the mushy ending to this chapter makes up for the terrible one last chapter. Also, originally this chapter was going to end before they made up, but I’m apparently incapable of keeping Abby and James apart for longer than a whole chapter, which is why this ended up being my longest chapter yet.
> 
>  
> 
> Sneak peek of chapter 22… 
> 
> “So I take it you two resolved your issues?” Molly asks.
> 
> “By the looks of things – namely James’ hair, they did more than just resolve their issues,” Fred replies, smirking. 
> 
> James chokes on his pumpkin juice. I feel myself start to blush. James’ windblown hair does in fact make it look like he’s been very recently snogged.
> 
> “Get your mind out of the gutter, Freddy,” I say, after he’s delivered a solid slap on the back to James to get him to stop coughing. “We went flying.” 
> 
> “Damn,” Fred replies. “Was hoping for start-of-term party round two.”


	22. Complication #22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's always a winner in the Christmas gift exchange.

James and I go straight from the pitch to dinner that night. When we walk in, Dom, Alec, Molly, Amelie, Fred, and Simon are all already sitting together. Alec notices the two of us and smiles at me.  
  
We sit down at the table, me next to Molly and James next to Fred. Spending the majority of the afternoon on a broom has me famished, so I immediately start to fill up my plate.  
  
“So I take it you two resolved your issues?” Molly asks.   
  
“By the looks of things – namely James’ hair, they did more than just resolve their issues,” Fred replies, smirking.  
  
James chokes on his pumpkin juice. I feel myself start to blush. James’ windblown hair does in fact make it look like he’s been very recently snogged.  
  
“Get your mind out of the gutter, Freddy,” I say, after he’s delivered a solid slap on the back to James to get him to stop coughing. “We went flying.”  
  
“Damn,” Fred replies. “Was hoping for start-of-term party round two.”   
  
“Mate, I think you’ve forgotten what the meaning behind one-night-stand is,” James responds, apparently having recovered from his coughing fit. “Which is surprising, because they’re your favourite.”   
  
Fred shrugs. I study James, wondering if he still feels the same residual physical attraction left over from that night that I do.  
  
“Alright!” Dom claps. “Turning the topic of conversation away from people’s sex lives! James and Abby, I made the rest of this lot draw gift exchange names earlier today, so now it’s your turn.”  
  
She pulls a small black bag out of her pocket, holding it in front of James.  
  
While he pulls a name out, she turns to me. “When you’ve got a ridiculous amount of cousins like this, it’s way easier if we just turn it into a massive gift exchange. That way, you only have to buy one big gift instead of a ton of tiny ones. The bag’s also charmed to give you someone that you at least know reasonably well, because it’d be pretty cruel to give you Hugo’s best friend or someone like that.”  
  
I reach into the bag, my fingers finding a slip of paper.  
  
I pull it out and read the name I’ve been given:  _Dominique Weasley_.   
  
Oh good, this should be easy.   
  
I tuck the slip of paper into the pocket of my dress and start thinking of all of the potential gifts I could get Dom.  
  
“Say, Abby, you got any idea why your former army of minions has split?”  
  
I look up to see that Simon’s looking over at the Ravenclaw table, and I realize that he’s referring to the Royals. Sure enough, as has become custom over the past two weeks, Scarlett and Brooke are sitting together and Caroline is a few seats away, reading.  
  
“It’s beyond me,” I sigh. “I haven’t spoken to any of them since October.”  
  
I can’t decide if something actually happened between them, or if Caroline’s just really nervous about exams and is just isolating herself to study more. I don’t voice this – even if we’re not friends anymore, Caroline had asked me not to say anything about her academic situation, so I won’t.  
  
“Oh, how the mighty fall,” Fred comments.  
  
“How they fall indeed,” I reply, and conversation about the Royals ends at that.  
  
   
  


* * *

  
  
  
I realize that the timing of the gift exchange draw was a very intentional decision. It gives everyone just enough time to think of a gift and then buy it at the following Hogsmeade weekend.  
  
Well, at least anyone who’s buying something that can be sold at Hogsmeade. I, however, decide to indulge Dom’s love of anything sparkly, which requires me to place a couple orders from owl order catalogues instead.  
  
As the much-girlier friend, I have way too much fun picking out a couple cute clothing items that I can convince her to wear instead of her usual wardrobe of joggers and oversized T-shirts.   
  
However, this flurry of gift-buying at Hogsmeade this weekend means that no one’s really made any plans with each other. We’re all sworn to secrecy on who we’re meant to be buying gifts for, so any Christmas shopping has to be a solo event.  
  
Everyone splits up upon arriving to Hogsmeade except me and Fred, who apparently also got his gift by owl order.    
  
We walk aimlessly through the streets for a while, making casual conversation.   
  
“You know,” he says as we walk in front of Zonko’s, “my dad’s in the process of negotiating a buyout deal with them. Wants to put a Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes in Hogsmeade to make it more accessible to students during the year.”  
  
I laugh. “Oh good, because they didn’t have enough access to Skiving Snackboxes as it is.”  
  
“Not going to lie, I’m a bit surprised you know what those are.” Fred looks at me, mildly impressed.   
  
“How could I not? I watched half of our year take a Puking Pastille before the History of Magic exam in third year.”  
  
Fred laughs. “Merlin, I almost forgot about that. The Entrance Hall smelled like vomit for a whole week."   
  
I crinkle my nose in disgust. “I had no appetite for that whole week because of it.”   
  
Fred shifts his gaze to the next building. “So what are your thoughts on Puddifoot’s?”  
  
I think about my response. “It’s not terrible, but I can’t say I’d ever want to spend time there. I love a good tea shop, but the decorations there are a bit too gaudy. It’s like they’re trying too hard to make it a ‘romantic’ spot, which means that it’s not really romantic at all.”  
  
“Why am I not surprised that you’re opposed to Puddifoot’s not because it’s too girly, but because it’s not a classy enough level of girly for you?”  
  
“Because you’ve hung out with me for the past two months?” I reply, giggling a little at his spot-on analysis of my standards.   
  
“True, true.”   
  
We’ve reached the end of road, and now we’re staring off towards the Shrieking Shack. Merlin, what a place.  
  
“Did James ever tell you the Shrieking Shack story?” I ask, looking over at Fred. I know James kept most of the events of that night a secret, but I didn’t know if that little detail had made it into the original retelling.   
  
“Are you about to give me a play-by-play of sex with my cousin?” Fred smirks. “Because that would be traumatizing for me, personally.”  
  
I swat him on the arm. “You perv! Obviously that’s not what it’s about.”  
  
He puts his arms up in mock-surrender. “Ok, just wanted to make sure.”  
  
“Maybe I won’t tell you now,” I pout.  
  
“That’s not fair!” he cries. “You can’t deliver a line like that and then not follow through!”  
  
“Fine then, I’ll tell you,” I sigh, but I’m smirking just a little. “Anyways, the morning after everything, you know, happened… I kind of lost my composure a little bit. And by a little bit, I mean I was screaming bloody murder at James over how stupid he was to drag a girl to the Shrieking Shack for a hook-up, you know, all that good stuff. Some overly skittish Hogsmeade resident heard what apparently resembled unintelligible shrieking coming from the Shack and immediately ran to the  _Prophet_ to announce that the most haunted location in all of Britain was suddenly haunted again. It ran in the papers the next day.”  
  
Fred looks at me blankly for a few seconds, and then busts out into uncontrollable laughter. When he recovers, he responds, “Merlin, that's a fantastic story. I hope you tell your kids that. I can’t believe James never told me. Although, then again, he wouldn’t so much as hint at who you were at the time, so it doesn’t surprise me.”   
  
“Well, at least one of us was good at keeping a secret. Speaking of secrets, don’t tell that story to anyone else – I don’t really need all of Hogwarts knowing more about the ‘scandalous’ things I’ve done this term than they already do.”  
  
“You have my word,” he swears.  
  
As we walk back towards the village, I spot James poking around one of the stores. He also apparently sees us, and he reacts by immediately bolting away.  
  
“Well, I take it James has one of us as his gift exchange partner, because I’ve never seen that bloke run away from me so fast,” Fred laughs.   
  
“Maybe he’s just terrified of me now,” I reply cheekily. “I did trick him into coming to an intervention even though I was the only one in there.”   
  
“Ha, I think if there was a time that would make James terrified of you, it would’ve been sometime in the past six years when you were actually screaming at him about something,” Fred says. “He likes you too much to be scared off by you at this point, anyways.”   
  
I try not to think into what Fred might mean by that. “Well then, I can’t wait to see what he got one of us for Christmas.”  
  
   
  


* * *

  
  
  
For the actual gift exchange, the Room of Requirement has the same layout as it does for an intervention, but instead of the giant hand-painted banner, there are massive Christmas trees and garlands hung around the room. They match the décor in the Great Hall perfectly, and I can’t help but be impressed with the castle’s magic yet again.  
  
The room also apparently knows better than to use any mistletoe, given how many of the people in this room are blood relatives. That could get weird very quickly.  
  
Everyone’s gifts are thrown under the largest tree, and I’m entertained by the wide range of wrapping skills displayed. Even though it’s completely possible to wrap a gift with magic, at least a few people have chosen the Muggle method and their gifts look like crinkled balls of wrapping paper and tape at this point.  
  
“Everyone!” Molly cries. “Pay attention to me!”  
  
As Head Girl, it’s only natural that she’s taking the leadership role in this situation as well. Her cousins are all also very used to listening to her, so everyone stops talking at once.  
  
“We’re going to do this thing one at a time, instead of letting everyone open gifts all at once like a group of animals. You know, actually enjoy the Christmas spirit and all that lark,” she explains. “I’ll give my gift first, since I’m already standing up here, and hopefully if Dom’s name bag did things properly, we should be able to get all the way around before someone gives me my gift.”   
  
She walks to the tree and grabs an artfully wrapped gold and green box, and places the box in Amelie’s lap. Amelie squeals when she opens the gift to discover a pair of Healer’s robes – that’s been her career ambition since first year.  
  
The process continues, with Amelie giving a gift to Simon, Simon giving a gift to Fred, Fred giving a gift to Roxanne, Roxanne giving a gift to Verity, and so on.  
  
Alec gifts James a new set of Keeper’s gloves, stating that his old pair are “bloody disgusting” and that this new pair is the highest quality one they offer on the market. James looks thrilled, as he does when anything related to Quidditch is involved.  
  
Now it’s James’ turn to give a gift. Given his jumpy reaction to Fred and me in Hogsmeade and the fact that Fred has already gotten his gift, I can only assume that his gift is meant for me.  
  
He walks around to the back of the tree, grabs a long, narrow box, and then presents it to me. So yes, my assumption was correct.   
  
“I’m going to sit right here and watch you open this,” he tells me, taking a seat on the ground in front of the couch I’m on.   
  
Although the shape of the box should’ve been a dead giveaway, I don’t realize what the gift is until I’ve got the package open and look at the wooden handle. Etched into the top of the handle in gold writing, is  _Firebolt Lightening_.   
  
Holy mother of Merlin. I’m not an expert on brooms or anything, but I know that this is one of the best. It’s the same one that James flies, actually.  
  
“Oh my Godric,” I say, my hands covering my mouth. “You shouldn’t have.”  
  
He smirks; he can tell that he basically won the gift exchange by my reaction. “I did it for myself, really. You were a bit too slow for me on those school brooms – waiting around for you was exhausting.”   
  
I’m not even capable of forming a snarky response. Instead, I gently set the broom aside and essentially launch myself at James, wrapping my arms around his neck in appreciation. Honestly, it’s a wonder I don’t knock him to the floor.  
  
“Thank you,” I murmur into his shirt.  
  
“You’re welcome,” he replies, laughing.  
  
“Oi, can you two take your public displays of affection elsewhere? We’re trying to run a gift exchange here.”   
  
I pull myself off of James to see Alec looking at us with a mock expression of reproach. Bit hypocritical of him given the sheer number of times I’ve witnessed him and Dom snogging in public this term.   
  
Simon apparently concurs. “You’re pot calling the kettle black, mate.”   
  
Alec shrugs it off.   
  
Now that I’ve had a moment to compose myself again – and James has gone back to his original seat – I go and grab the glittery package from under the tree. I had figured that if the inside was going to be filled with sparkly things, the box should sparkle too.  
  
I hand it to Dom, who immediately beams at the glittery wrapping paper. She takes little time in tearing it open though, and immediately grabs at the silver dress sitting on top. It’s a short-sleeved, boxy dress that’s covered in sequins and stops at mid-thigh.    
  
“This is amazing! I’m going to be a fucking disco ball!” she exclaims, moving the dress around in the light.   
  
There’s a few other articles of clothing in the box, but I can tell that the dress is her favourite. “I’m wearing this on New Year’s,” she tells me, pointing at it.  
  
“No better time to be a literal disco ball,” I agree.  
  
She grabs her wrapped gift and hands it to Rose. It’s a collection of books, all with ornate hand-painted covers. Rose admires them, running her fingers lovingly along the illustrations, until she notices the title of the last one.  
  
Dom bursts into a fit of giggles.  
  
“Dammit, Dom,  _Pride and Prejudice_? Really?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneak peek of chapter 23…
> 
> “I’m doing a shadowing program at Mungo’s,” Amelie announces. “So if you lot do anything stupid and wind up in the hospital, I’ll be the first to know.”
> 
> “When do we ever do anything stupid?” James asks, smiling innocently.
> 
> Amelie rolls her eyes. “Do you really want to know the answer to that question?”
> 
> James’ innocent smile breaks into an all-out grin. “Not really.”


	23. Complication #23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s an odd incongruence when nothing has changed and everything has changed all at once.

The last day of fall term is frigid, but the sky has still refused to let any snow fall. Annoying, really, since I was hoping to see the castle grounds covered in white before I left. That’s when I like Hogwarts best – just after a fresh snowfall.  
  
I also can’t say I’m entirely happy to be headed home today, either. The thought of going back to my mother’s penthouse flat – to a place that hasn’t changed at all despite so much else changing – fills me with a sense of dread.  
  
I guess the best I can do for now is to enjoy the train ride back.  
  
When we board the Hogwarts Express, I’m sitting in the window seat. Amelie’s to my right, and Dom and Alec are almost on top of each other in the seat across from me. I’m pretty sure Dom has to go do patrols soon though, so the compartment will at least be a little less cramped when she leaves. These compartments are  _not_ designed to hold 8 people.  
  
James and Fred are dressed in what are quite possibly the tackiest Christmas sweaters I’ve ever seen. James’ sweater features hippogriffs with reindeer antlers flying across the fabric, and Fred’s is covered in Santa hats that start flirting whenever anyone gets within a foot of him. As a result, he’s been banished to the floor so that no one sets them off.  
  
“I’ll be working at the shop for most of break,” Fred says, joining the discussion of everyone’s holiday plans. “Dad’s working on a lot of the legal stuff behind acquiring Zonko’s, so I’m in charge of doing a lot of the day-to-day store stuff while he’s doing that.”   
  
“I’m doing a shadowing program at Mungo’s,” Amelie announces. “So if you lot do anything stupid and wind up in the hospital, I’ll be the first to know.”  
  
“When do we ever do anything stupid?” James asks, smiling innocently.   
  
Amelie rolls her eyes. “Do you really want to know the answer to that question?”  
  
James’ innocent smile breaks into an all-out grin. “Not really.”  
  
Behind James, I see Michael Davies walking past our compartment. He’s alone, which basically means this is the perfect time for me to attempt to knock some sense into the bloke, or at least get a better idea of his motivations.  
  
“Excuse me,” I announce, giving little explanation of why I’m quickly leaving the compartment.  
  
As I walk out, I apparently get too close to Freddy, and I hear his sweater go, “Nice legs.” The compartment bursts into laughter.  
  
“Davies!” I snap at the boy’s retreating figure.  
  
He spins around and looks a bit surprised when he sees it’s me.  
  
I walk towards him. “Can we have a chat real quick?”  
  
“Sure.”   
  
I decide to go the blunt route. “Care to explain why you turned down a girl you so obviously fancy and have fancied for years?”  
  
He pales a little at the accusation. “Did Molly ask you to talk to me?”  
  
“No, and she might kill me if she found out I was intervening in her life,” I reply. “But you two both clearly fancy the pants off each other and the fact that she acted on it and you turned her down is, quite frankly, ridiculous.”  
  
He stares at me, jaw agape, for a few moments.  
  
“She only fancies me because I stopped looking like a super awkward teenager,” he finally replies, a little indignant. “She doesn’t actually fancy me as a person.”  
  
I resist the urge to smack him upside the head. “Davies, have you even met Molly? She’s not the kind to go after a bloke for looks alone. Yeah, maybe it took a few years and you growing up a little bit for her to realize she fancies you, so what? Doesn’t mean she doesn’t fancy your personality too.”  
  
“I guess."   
  
“No,” I snap, “you don’t guess, you know. Because you know Molly. So get over yourself and this complex of yours, for your sake and hers. Either ask the girl out on a proper date when we get back from break or apologize for leading her on and stay out of her way for the rest of the year.”  
  
He thinks about my words for a few moments, then sighs. “Okay. I will.”  
  
“That’s all I ask,” I smile sweetly.  
  
I go to walk back to my compartment, but he stops me. “Oh, and Winchester?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“I’m sorry that Blaise did what he did to you. You deserve better than that.”  
  
“Thank you, I appreciate that,” I reply, turning to head back to my compartment, which has erupted into a fit of laughter again for some reason or another.  
  
   
  


* * *

  
  
  
Unlike when I left for the term and both of my parents came to drop me off, neither come to pick me up. Originally, my mother was supposed to, since her flat is where I’m spending most of the break, but something came up at the Ministry. So instead, I find an alleyway and Apparate.  
  
The discordance of walking into my unchanged room is exactly as intense as I had expected it to be.  
  
Everything is exactly as I left it on August 31. The bedding is still lightly rumpled in one corner – I’ve never been able to make a bed perfectly, despite my best efforts – and the same few items I’d thrown out of my trunk at the last few minutes are still sitting on the bench at the foot of my bed.  
  
It’s as if my whole world has shifted, but this place has remained still – frozen in time, frozen in a place where I’m still the Hogwarts Queen Bee with the dreamy boyfriend and all the power in the world.  
  
And I never thought I’d say it, but I don’t like that version of myself anymore. I can see all of the ways that she was childish and petty and manipulative, and surrounded herself with things that were all just like the display of fake flowers sitting on my vanity – pretty and artificial on the outside but dead and hollow on the inside.  
  
Instead of staying here and waiting for my mother to come home, I set my trunk in my closet and leave the flat altogether. I don’t bother leaving her a note; I’m not sure she’ll notice my absence all that acutely when she comes home, anyways.  
  
It takes only a few minutes to make my way into Muggle London, where I quickly locate my favourite book shop. I grab an interesting-looking novel out of the new releases section, and head to the back of the store to find an open armchair.  
  
As much as I’ve been dreading winter break, I’m also incredibly thrilled about how much alone time I’m about to have with nothing else to occupy me but endless shelves of books.  
  
Merlin, I’m such a Ravenclaw.  
  
   
  


* * *

  
  
  
I wake up the next morning to a snowy owl tapping rather insistently on my window.  
  
I open up the window and the owl drops the letter it’s carrying into my hands, but not before nipping one of my fingers to express its frustration at how long it took me to open the window.  
  
I immediately recognize James’ scrawling handwriting. Naturally the bloke has an owl that’s just as impatient as he is.  
  
  
  
 _Abby,_  
  
 _I know this letter is incredibly random, but I didn’t want to wait to write it. I promised you no more secrets, and then I remembered a few that I haven’t told you about just yet._  
  
 _First of all, I’ve got an Invisibility Cloak. It’s some sort of family heirloom, but it’s actually kind of amazing for sneaking around the grounds after curfew. I’ve had it since third year._  
  
 _I also have a map – it’s called the Marauder’s Map, something to do with my granddad – that shows where everyone is at Hogwarts. I think you might’ve seen that one before, but I never properly told you what it is._  
  
 _Oh, and one time when I was 9 I ate all of Lily’s Christmas candy and blamed in on Al._  
  
 _And I think that’s all the secrets I’ve got left. You already knew all the big ones. I realize now that the start of this letter probably made it sound like I had something more dramatic to reveal to you and you probably got nervous when you started reading it, but I don’t want to rewrite the whole thing. So I’m sorry for unintentionally elevating your heart rate._  
  
 _See ya,_  
  
 _James_  
  
  
  
I find myself actually laughing out loud reading James’ letter. Sometimes, he truly can be a giant dork.  
  
I like seeing this side of him more often. I’ve definitely become well-acquainted with his more serious side given everything that has happened this past term, but the part of James that is funny, impulsive, and relaxed is my favorite part of him. Perhaps because it’s so opposite to everything that I tried to be for so long.  
  
I place his letter on my nightstand and walk downstairs. I’m pretty sure that my mother has already left for work, so the flat is empty besides Francy, the house-elf, who's running around the kitchen tidying the place up.  
  
I go to make myself a cup of coffee, but Francy intervenes.  
  
“I can do that for you, Miss!”  
  
I know better than to argue with a house-elf about cleaning and food preparation. Francy takes her job very seriously.   
  
I let her prepare the coffee, and she also presents me with a smoothie – my breakfast of choice when I’m at home, since the Hogwarts food isn’t exactly known for its fruit selection.  
  
While sitting at the dining table, I’m greeted by yet another owl. This time, it’s from Dom.  
  
   
  
 _Abby!_  
  
 _I have no idea if one of my other cousins have already owled you about this (we maybe need to improve on communication), but we’re doing New Year’s at the Potter’s house this year!_  
  
 _Don’t worry, there’ll be a ton of alcohol and all your favorite people. If you want to Apparate to my house beforehand, that’ll probably be easiest given the security measures on the Potter’s house – my address is on the envelope!_  
  
 _All my love,_  
  
 _Dom_  
  
   
  
I tuck the letter into my purse before leaving the flat.  
  
My New Year’s plans just got a whole lot more interesting.  
  
   
  


* * *

  
  
  
Christmas morning is… awkward, to say the least. I had declined Diana’s invitation to join her and my father for Christmas dinner at Diana’s parents’ place, so the two of them decided to send my Christmas presents to my mother’s flat.  
  
As a result, I spend the whole morning opening gifts while my mother watches me and occasionally adds on her own commentary about how superior her own gifts for me are.  
  
I can’t help but contrast this and the gift exchange back at Hogwarts – the latter was much more fun.   
  
I also like the gift I got from James better than anything my parents have given me. The new clothes and jewelry are nice, but the Firebolt definitely takes the cake. It’s got sentimental value, given that James was the one to give it to me and he’s also the one that got me into flying in the first place.  
  
The last box I open, however, is a little different. Unlike the other packages that came from my father, this one only has Diana’s name on the ‘from’ line. I don’t mention this fact to my mother.   
  
I should’ve been suspicious of the contents when the box itself started to shift around a little, but I’m completely thrown off when I open the box and find a small, white kitten with a pink bow around her neck, staring back at me with the most piercing blue eyes I’ve ever seen.   
  
I scoop her out of the box, and she immediately nestles into my chest.  
  
“They got you a  _cat_?” my mother says, disgust evident in her voice.  
  
“Yes, that’s what it looks like,” I reply absentmindedly, distracted by the little bundle of fur in my arms.  
  
“How tacky.”  
  
“I like her,” I respond. For just this moment, I’m not going to let my mother’s negativity affect my mood.  
  
I’d never seen myself as a ‘pet person,’ but this little kitten is different. I can’t help but be in awe of her tiny paws and the way that she nuzzles her head into my red, silky nightie.  
  
“You won’t when that little monster becomes a fully-grown animal,” my mother insists, before leaving the room.  
  
My mother’s minor tantrum over the kitten continues, and then she tells me that she has to go into the Ministry to get some work done.   
  
As a result, I’m a bit confused when I hear a knock on the door a few hours later. I’m even more confused when I open the door to find James, wearing a burgundy sweater with a large J across the front.  
  
“Happy Christmas, Abby!” he says cheerily.  
  
I’m suddenly very conscious of the fact that I’m standing in front of James wearing nothing but a thin nightgown. I move the kitten, who I’ve decided to name Lila, in front of my chest.   
  
“Happy Christmas to you too, James.” I study him for a moment. “Do you usually show up on people’s doorsteps on Christmas?”   
  
“Yes, actually,” he replies, grinning. “It’s a tradition. Al, Lily, and I all started doing it to all our friends when we were in primary school. Although this is the first year I haven’t had to use one of my parents to do it, since I’ve got my Apparition license now. Alec is up next.”  
  
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: their whole family is weird. But in the best way.  
  
I laugh and shake my head. “You lot are ridiculous, you know that?”  
  
He laughs as well. “We try.”   
  
After a few moments, he adds, “So was that a Christmas present?”  
  
I see that he’s looking at Lila. “Yes, she’s from my father’s fiancé. If it weren’t for the fact that she almost ripped like three sweaters earlier today, I’d say Lila would be giving you a good run for your money in terms of the best gift I got this year.”   
  
“I got you the best gift this year?” he asks, his tone a bit more serious.  
  
“Yeah,” I reply. “My parents basically get me the same stuff every year, but the Firebolt was special.”  
  
He flashes me the same easy smile he gets when he’s genuinely happy about something. “I’m honored.”   
  
I smile back. “Don’t let it go to your head too much.”  
  
“Too late,” he replies, his smile shifting into a smirk.  
  
I roll my eyes. “Any notable Christmas gifts on your end?”  
  
“My parents got me tickets to an Arrows match in a week – box seats right by the opposing team’s hoops so we get the best view of the Keeper.”   
  
“So I take it that’s your ‘team’?” I still don’t have a ton of Quidditch knowledge, but I know that people tend to pick a favourite team in the League – Dom’s is the Cannons, for example.  
  
James shrugs. “Sort of? Their current Keeper is one of the best to play the game, so that’s really why I like seeing them play.”   
  
I nod. “Makes sense."   
  
 “So, do tell, what amazing Christmas plans do you have going on?” James asks.  
  
I unconsciously tense up a little bit. “Well, nothing really,” I say honestly. “My mother ran off to deal with Ministry stuff and I turned down my father and Diana’s Christmas dinner invitation a few days ago.”  
  
He tilts his head to the side, frowning slightly. “Why’d you do that? Turn them down, I mean.”   
  
I shrug. “I didn’t want to deal with how upset my mother would be.”  
  
“Well, if she’s not here, you’ve got no obligation to stick around for her.” James seems almost annoyed. “No one should spend Christmas alone.”   
  
I nod. “I’ll think about it.”   
  
“Good.”  
  
We stand in silence for a few seconds, then I tell him, “You should get back to Apparating around and telling everyone you know to have a happy Christmas. I can handle myself.”   
  
He chuckles at that. “I know you can. By the way, nice outfit.”  
  
I’m glad that he Apparates away immediately after saying that, because that means he doesn’t get to see how pink my cheeks get in response.  
  
After standing there a few minutes longer, I realize that James has a point. I don’t want to spend Christmas evening alone.  
  
It doesn’t take me long to get ready, and I Apparate to the street address Diana had sent me. I knock on the door hesitantly, unsure of how my arrival will be taken.  
  
Diana opens the door, and when she sees that it’s me, she immediately breaks into a huge smile. “Abigail! It’s so good to see you!”  
  
“Am I still welcome?” I ask, nervously tucking a strand of loose hair behind my ear.  
  
“That’s a ridiculous question,” she replies. “Of course you are.”  
  
She grabs my hand and pulls me into the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneak peek of chapter 24…
> 
> “I’ll start!” Freddy declares, taking a sip of his drink. “Never have I ever slept with someone in this room.”
> 
> Dom, Alec, Cecile, Al, James, and I all drink and put a finger down.
> 
> “Never have I ever slept with more than one person within a week,” Alec says on his turn, looking at Freddy. 
> 
> Fred, as expected takes a drink, and I realize that I have to as well.
> 
> “I’m being targeted,” I complain after taking a sip, even though I know that Alec was technically targeting Fred. I’m a bit too tipsy to make the distinction.


	24. Complication #24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The New Year’s Eve countdown can lead to some unexpected outcomes.

December 31 couldn’t have come fast enough. I’ve been desperate to find ways to get out of the house. My mother is livid that I dared to spend Christmas at Diana’s parents’ house, and makes a point of reminding me of that every time she sees me.  
  
Never mind that her disappearance was the reason I ended up going there on Christmas night.  
  
The night of New Year’s Eve, however, is a perfect excuse to escape. I’m not seeing my father, so my mother can’t put up her usual protests. It even gets me out of the house through the next morning, as I've told her I’m staying at Dom’s for the night.  
  
Before I leave, I admire my outfit choice in the mirror. I’d found a slinky, shimmering gold dress that falls to my mid-calf earlier the week and immediately fallen in love. At first, I’m a bit concerned that I’ll be overdressed, but then I remember that Dom is wearing her “disco ball” dress, as she so aptly named it, and I’m no longer concerned. At least one person at the party will be dressed as excessively as me.  
  
And really, what’s the point of New Year’s Eve if it isn’t to have a free excuse to wear something that sparkles?  
  
I Apparate to Dom’s house first. She lives in a gorgeous little house by the sea, and immediately notices me when she hears the crack of Apparition outside of her window.  
  
“Abby!” she cries, practically throwing herself on top of me. “I’ve missed you so much!”  
  
“I’ve missed you too,” I hug her back just as enthusiastically. “So, we’re really meant to be going to the Potter’s for New Year’s?”  
  
“Yeah,” Dom replies, finally releasing me. “Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny are apparently of the mindset that they’d rather us drink there than go out clubbing and do something stupid, so they’re basically giving us the whole house to ourselves on the grounds that we won’t break anything and no one’s going to shag on their bed.”  
  
Really, for a couple that was responsible for saving the wizarding world, I’m kind of surprised by their laidback parenting style.   
  
“Works for me,” I shrug. My last two New Year’s Eve celebrations had involved going out to Muggle nightclubs and confunded the bouncers since we were underage. The experience is a bit overrated, in all honesty. Too crowded and too many belligerently drunk idiots.   
  
“Let’s go,” she says, grabbing my hand and pulling me along for side-along Apparition. She’s able to bypass the Potter’s security features since she’s family, so it’s easiest for us to Apparate there together.  
  
We Apparate directly into what appears to be the Potter’s living room, where a number of Weasley/Potters are already sitting.  
  
“Oh thank Merlin!” Fred cries when he notices that we’ve arrived. “Now we can actually start drinking!”  
  
“I told you lot you didn’t have to wait for me!” Dom replies. “And it’s not my fault that Abby doesn’t know how to get to parties on time.”  
  
“I was only five minutes late!” I protest.  
  
“No need for anyone to get their knickers in a twist,” James chimes in, and even though he’s addressing all of us, I can’t help but feel like he’s looking right at me.  
  
I will  _not_ blush. Or think about the fact that he’s wearing dark jeans and a dark grey button-down rolled up to his elbows and he looks really,  _really_  good.   
  
“If you’re so impatient then, let’s get to drinking,” I say, avoiding James’ eye.  
  
That’s apparently all the motivation anyone needs to bring out a massive amount of alcohol and start mixing drinks together. I swear the family bought the same amount of alcohol for the twenty or so of us as the boys do for a school-wide party.  
  
After an hour or so, everyone is properly tipsy. And rightfully so, because the drinks have been  _strong_. Somehow, James and Fred managed to acquire a type of champagne that’s twice as alcoholic as the normal stuff.  
  
I’m sitting next to James on one of the couches, and I’m fully aware that alcohol and proximity to him when he looks this good is a dangerous combination.  
  
“Let’s play a game!” Alec demands, pulling Dom closer to him.  
  
“I propose Never Have I Ever,” a brunette boy, one of Louis’ friends, suggests.  
  
“There’s some things I don’t need to know about my cousins,” Molly replies. She’s flushed, a clear sign that she’s been drinking more than normal tonight.  
  
“Nonsense!” Fred cries, falling into the seat next to her. “There’s no such thing as too much information about us.”  
  
“On the contrary, there definitely is. But fine, if that’s what you guys want.”  
  
After a brief explanation of how the game is played, we all hold up five fingers.  
  
“I’ll start!” Freddy declares, taking a sip of his drink. “Never have I ever slept with someone in this room.”  
  
Dom, Alec, Cecile, Al, James, and I all drink and put a finger down.  
  
“While I knew about all of those, this is precisely why I said no to this game,” Molly grumbles.  “I didn’t need to be reminded.”   
  
“Never have I ever slept with more than one person within a week,” Alec says on his turn, ignoring Molly’s complaints and looking directly at Freddy.  
  
Fred, as expected, takes a drink, and I realize that I have to as well.  
  
“I’m being targeted,” I complain after taking a sip, even though I know that Alec was technically targeting Fred. I’m a bit too tipsy to make the distinction.   
  
“Nah, love, you’re just really unlucky,” Simon drawls from his spot on the floor. He’s somehow the most drunk out of all of us.  
  
“Never have I ever drank so much I couldn’t remember what happened the next morning,” Dom announces, bringing the focus back to the game at hand.  
  
At least this is one I don’t have to participate in. However, most of the room does.  
  
“It’s my trump card,” Dom declares, grinning at me like a maniac.  
  
I realize it’s my turn now. “Erm, never have I ever gotten lower than an A on an assignment?”   
  
“Sometimes I forget how much of a bloody perfectionist you are,” James says as he takes a drink, and I notice that basically the entire room is drinking.   
  
“Fucking Ravenclaws,” Fred complains.  
  
“Hey now, I’m a Ravenclaw and I got a Troll on my History of Magic OWL,” Louis protests.  
  
I shrug. “It’s just what came to mind first.”   
  
It’s James’ turn. “Never have I ever been in love.”  
  
A surprisingly lower number of people take sips. It’s really just Al, Cecile, Lily, and me. I’m a bit surprised that neither Dom or Alec drink, and if I were a little bit drunker I’d tell Scorpius that he needs to take a sip as well, because really, the boy’s definitely at least a little in love with Rose.  
  
And really… should I even be drinking? Yes, I’d told Blaise I loved him, and at the time, I really thought I did. But I also don’t know if I really understood what love was at the time; not that I think I have any better idea of what it is now. But I’m realizing I may have been more in love with the stability Blaise offered than with Blaise himself.  
  
“Never have I ever driven a Muggle car,” Roxanne declares, bringing me back to the present moment.   
  
Amelie and two of Louis’ friends take a drink, and I do as well.  
  
James looks at me after I’ve taken my sip, a bit surprised. “You can drive?”  
  
“Yeah,” I reply nonchalantly, because I’ve never really seen my Muggle driving skills as a big deal. “I’ve got a car back home. It’s just more fun than Apparating everywhere all the time.”  
  
“Incredible.” He grins.  
  
I look down at my hand to realize I’ve only got one finger left – the lowest of anyone playing.  
  
I’m going to lose this game, aren’t I?  
  
   
  


* * *

  
  
  
As it turns out, I don’t actually lose. Fred does, because Molly, Amelie, and Simon go next and all choose to target him on their turns. He's done a bunch of really ridiculous things, which doesn't surprise me at all.  
  
As the evening wears on, people start to progressively cross the threshold from tipsy to fully drunk. Fred starts dancing, even though there’s no music; it’s interesting to see how alcohol affects him when there isn’t a girl around for him to snog.  
  
Speaking of snogging, Alec and Dom are going at it, even though she has a number of her cousins in the room and it’s not even midnight yet. I’m partially convinced that Al and Cecile are asleep. Scorpius is deep in conversation with Rose, and I’m pretty sure it’s about Charms theory or something equally as academic. Lily, Roxanne, and Verity are playing Exploding Snap – which has to be a safety hazard given that they’ve each had a glass or two of champagne.  
  
But then again, everything about tonight is probably a safety hazard, really. Why the Potters thought it’d be safe to leave this many teenagers alone in a house together with alcohol is beyond me.   
  
“2023 is a big year for us, isn’t it?”  
  
I turn my head from looking at the room to look at James. As the night has progressed, we’ve somehow ended up sitting on the couch so that my legs are across his lap. It’s the sort of not-so-casual contact that’s only made acceptable by the amount of alcohol we’ve all drank.  
  
“I mean, we graduate and have to become real, functioning, working adults,” he elaborates, absentmindedly toying with the hem of my dress.  
  
In all honesty, I haven’t been giving the future much thought. With all the insanity that’s happened this past year, I’m not really sure what my future plans are anymore. With Blaise, they were pretty much set in stone: we’d marry not too long after graduating, he’d take over his family business, and I’d become the perfect housewife. It wasn’t exactly my dream life, but it was a stable, well-diagrammed life, and that was good enough for me. But now, I’m not so sure what I’m doing with my life.  
  
“What are you doing after Hogwarts?” I ask James, suddenly curious. “Are you going to play Quidditch professionally?”  
  
He shakes his head. “I don’t think so. I love Quidditch, but I don’t think I want to do it as my job – I’d rather keep it as something I can do for fun rather than have to stress about making it a career.”  
  
“Understandable,” I nod.  
  
“And what about you, Miss I’ve-never-gotten-lower-than-an-Acceptable-in-my-life? What are you planning on doing after graduation?” James replies teasingly.  
  
“I have absolutely no clue,” I admit.   
  
“You really ought to do something related to Defence,” he tells me, after thinking about it for a moment. “You’re really bloody good at it, and from what I can tell, it’s your favourite subject.”  
  
I’m struck by his perceptiveness. I also think he’s correct; while I haven’t given much thought to what  _I_  want to do with my future, rather than what Blaise had planned for me, I like the idea of doing something related to Defence. It would suit me.  
  
“10 seconds to midnight!” Fred yells, stopping whatever weird dance move he was doing.  
  
The whole room joins in on the countdown – even the snogging couples pull apart to participate. Perhaps just so the ‘midnight kiss’ part retains some semblance of novelty.  
  
When we get to three, I realize that James is looking at me. I can’t quite place the expression in his eyes, but it looks a lot like he wants to kiss me.  
  
And that would just make things so incredibly  _complicated_.  
  
So when the clock strikes midnight, I handle the situation in the absolute smoothest way possible.  
  
“HAPPY NEW YEAR!” I tell James loudly, and immediately grab a champagne flute from the table next to us and consume the entire contents of the glass in one go.  
  
He’s watching me with an amused expression. If he’s disappointed that I didn’t kiss him, it doesn’t show. Maybe I read that look wrong.  
  
He grabs his own flute of champagne and downs it as well. “Happy New Year to you too, Abby,” he says finally, grinning.  
  
A shot glass is suddenly shoved in my face, and I look up to see Fred. “No better way to ring in 2023 than by getting plastered,” he announces cheerily, before running over to Dom and Alec to physically separate them and hand them shots as well.   
  
“Bottoms up.” James clinks his glass with mine.  
  
I pour the shot down my throat. I’m expecting the burn that comes from Firewhiskey, but this goes down incredibly smooth.   
  
“Muggle whiskey,” James says, predicting my question before I even ask it. “Burns just a bit less, but it’s a bit harder for us to get our hands on considering the Muggle drinking age is technically 18.”  
  
“I like it,” I tell him.  
  
Fred overhears me, and uses it as justification for handing me yet another shot. I take it, which is probably a bad decision given how much alcohol I’ve just consumed in a short time period.  
  
“Oi, where’s Simon?” Fred asks. “He needs a shot too!”  
  
I glance around the room and realize that Simon isn’t actually anywhere to be found. I feel like that’s a bit of an issue, especially given that he was the drunkest out of all of us just a few hours ago.   
  
James is apparently of the same mindset. “We really ought to go make sure he’s not passed out in the kitchen or something like that.”  
  
I nod and swing my legs off of his lap. When I stand up, I realize the dangers of drinking while sitting still – it doesn’t quite hit you fully until you try to move. I sway a little, and I feel James’ hand on my lower back, steadying me.  
  
“Alright there, Abby?” he asks, smirking at me. He’s no doubt entertained by the fact that this is the most drunk he’s seen me in a while.  
  
“I’m fine,” I reassure him, scanning the room while I get my bearings. “Where’s Louis?”  
  
Sure enough, he’s missing as well. You would think it’d be hard to lose people at a party taking place entirely in one room, but it’s apparently easier than expected.   
  
Unfortunately, neither of them are in the kitchen. Or the dining room. Or any of the other nearby rooms.  
  
James and I walk upstairs, while Fred continues to search the main floor of the house.  
  
James goes to check the bathroom, and I open a door at random.  
  
As I look around the room I just opened the door to, I realize that I’m pretty sure it’s James’ bedroom. I can’t explain why I just instinctively know this, but there’s just something about it that’s undeniably James. Plus there are Appleby Arrows and Gryffindor Quidditch banners hanging from the walls, which are a dead giveaway – although the banners are definitely not the most interesting thing about the room at the moment.   
  
The most interesting thing about the room is the fact that the two missing boys in question are currently on the bed, snogging as if their lives depended on it.  
  
It’s not so surprising on Louis’s part, but I definitely wasn’t expecting to find Simon snogging another bloke.   
  
“Erm, James?” I begin awkwardly. “I found them.”  
  
He walks up to join me in the doorway. “Well that’s… an interesting development.”  
  
And then he adds, “I’m going to need a few more drinks to process this one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneak peek of chapter 25…
> 
> “Wait!” James yells, stopping everyone in their tracks. “One more thing.”
> 
> Louis is the first to respond. “Yes?”
> 
> “If you’re going to snog again, for the love of Merlin, don’t do it on my bed.” He looks around the room. “That rule applies to all of you. The only person allowed to snog on mybed is me.”
> 
> “If you’re the only person allowed, doesn’t that mean you’re snogging yourself?” Lily quips.
> 
> The entire room bursts into raucous laughter as James attempts to backtrack his previous statement.


	25. Complication #25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tension left untapped will only build.

There are three things I notice when I wake up the next morning on one of the Potter’s couches.   
  
First is that my head feels like it’s about to split open; I’m instantly regretting the five shots of whiskey that James and I took before going to bed.  
  
Second is that the aforementioned boy is currently asleep on the floor in front of the couch I’m on. He’s sprawled on the floor, vaguely resembling a starfish with all of his limbs going out in different directions. He’s also not the only one sleeping on the floor; the entire living room is covered with people in tangled sleeping positions.   
  
At first, I’m a bit confused as to why James is sleeping on the floor in his own house, when he has his own bedroom upstairs. Then I remember what we discovered last night. Clearly he’s not a fan of sleeping on the same bed he’d found his cousin and best mate snogging on.    
  
The third is that there is a piece of parchment in my hand. I bring it up to my face, squinting to read the words despite the strong sensation that the room is spinning around me.  
  
   
  
 _INTERVENTION_  
  
 _Potter Dining Room_  
  
 _1:00 pm is enough for the drunkest of you to sleep off the worst of your hangovers, right?_  
  
 _We’re going with 1:00 pm, I don’t care if you’re still dying, you better be there_  
  
  
  
This is the second intervention this year that’s centred around the fact that one of James’ best mates snogged a Weasley cousin. I can’t help but wonder if this is an anomaly or if every year involves this many intra-group relationships.  
  
After James and I found Simon and Louis snogging last night, the party was already dying down anyways and the new discovery proved to be the final nail in the coffin. The two boys fell asleep in different places in the house – I’m pretty sure Louis is still in James’ bed, and Simon is on the other side of the room from me, curled up in a tight ball.   
  
I peek at the watch around James’ wrist, noting that it’s only a little bit after 9. So I bury my face into the couch in an attempt to sleep off this awful headache.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Most of the Potter/Weasley clan isn’t in much better shape by the time the actual intervention rolls around. A large batch of Pepper-Up Potion was prepared to help handle this, but there’s only so much that the potion can do.  
  
As a result of this chaos, there’s absolutely no briefing before Simon and Louis show up. We’re all going in blind. I’m not even sure that everyone here knows  _why_ this intervention is happening in the first place, since James and I were the only people who actually saw it happen. But news among this group spreads like Fiendfyre, so there’s about an 80% chance that everyone already knows.  
  
Louis walks in, to the dining room red-faced, and Simon refuses to make eye contact with anyone when he follows in behind Louis.  
  
Fred clears his throat. “Given that we’re all currently hungover pieces of shit, we never prepared anything to say. So, in lieu of the lot of us starting the intervention, would one of you two care to explain what happened last night?”  
  
Simon looks up for the first time since entering the room, an unreadable expression on his face. “None of us can ever make a proper announcement of anything around here, can we?” he says wryly.  
  
“So you’re saying that…” Amelie looks like she’s deep in thought.  
  
“I’m saying that I’m gay,” Simon responds, a bit louder this time. “I’ve known it for a while now, but I dunno, I hadn’t really given any thought to how I planned on coming out to you lot. Guess I don’t have to now.”  
  
“Why didn’t you tell us before?” James says quietly.  
  
Simon shrugs. “I didn’t know how you’d react, I guess. I wanted to make sure the timing was right and it wasn’t going to make anything weird.”   
  
“This doesn’t make anything weird,” Alec replies. “If anything, it just helps explain why you’ve never been all that thrilled about my attempts to set you up. But you’re practically my brother – and I know Freddy and James feel the same way – and nothing you could ever tell us would change that, really.”  
  
Fred and James both nod in earnest.  
  
“Thanks, guys,” Simon says, turning a little pink at the ears.  
  
“Now, onto the more pressing matter of business, why the hell were you two snogging last night?”   
  
Louis answers this time. “We were both piss-drunk,” he says, as means of explanation. “Although, we’ve had a bit of a chat this morning, and we’ve decided to make a go of it.”  
  
He grabs Simon’s hand, and I watch as a full-fledged blush creeps up Simon’s cheeks.   
  
Fred laughs. “What is it with all my mates dating my cousins?”  
  
“I mean, theoretically, you’re safe when it comes to James,” Alec responds. “He can’t exactly date any of your cousins.”  
  
“I would just like to point out that no one has threatened Simon’s existence yet, and I really think that’s just evidence that you lot are bloody sexist,” Dom rants, holding her boyfriend’s hand just a little bit tighter.  
  
“ _Anyways_ ,” Molly begins, looking a little worse for wear, “good for you two. Now can we please end this thing so that I can go sleep for another 12 hours?”  
  
“Roger that,” Fred replies. “I move that this intervention be dismissed.”  
  
It’s the most spirited anyone has been all day. “Dismissed!”  
  
“Wait!” James yells, stopping everyone in their tracks. “One more thing.”  
  
Louis is the first to respond. “Yes?”  
  
“If you’re going to snog again, for the love of Merlin, don’t do it on my bed.” He looks around the room. “That rule applies to all of you. The only person allowed to snog on  _my_ bed is me.”  
  
“If you’re the  _only_  person allowed, does that mean you’re snogging yourself?” Lily quips.  
  
The entire room bursts into raucous laughter as James attempts to backtrack his previous statement.  
  
   
  


* * *

  
  
  
Luckily, we go back to Hogwarts only a few days after New Year’s. That means only a few short days of trying to make sure Lila doesn’t escape my room, because my mother’s already moody enough without a cat running rampant around the flat. She’s not as cross by the time I go to leave for Hogwarts, but I can’t help but feel like she’s still a bit hurt that I dared to spend part of Christmas with my father and Diana.  
  
She gives me a hug on the platform, and I board the train, hoping to find my friends quickly.  
  
I don’t know why I’m worried about finding them, really, because I just have to listen for the loudest compartment.   
  
I slide the compartment door open a bit slowly; I underestimated how much more difficult hauling around my luggage is with the addition of Lila’s carrier.  
  
“Abby!” Dom says by way of greeting. “Nice of you to join –  _oh my Merlin_   _is that a kitty?_ ”  
  
I smile and nod, bringing the carrier over to her. “Meet Lila.”  
  
Dom’s infatuated immediately. “This is the most beautiful kitten I’ve ever seen in my life.”  
  
I laugh. “Well, she’s turned me into a pet person, so she’s clearly something special.”  
  
Behind me, James grabs my trunk and loads it above the compartment for me.  
  
“Why does your trunk only weigh like 5 kilos?” he asks, after shoving it on the shelf.  
  
“I charmed it to be lighter,” I respond. “I have to. Do you really think I’m capable of lifting that heavy of an object over my head without some magical assistance?”   
  
James smirks. “Good point. You are pretty weak.”  
  
I don't know why I suddenly feel like teasing him, but I give James a look of mock challenge as I take a step towards him. “Care to repeat that?”  
  
“You heard me.” His eyes are twinkling, the specks of gold in his irises clearly visible given how close we’re standing right now.  
  
The environment suddenly shifts, and it goes from playful banter while surrounded by our friends to just the two of us, locking eyes.   
  
I worry that if I stand there long enough, I might drown. It’s as if there’s an invisible thread between the two of us, pulling us closer and closer, until –   
  
I snap out of it. Merlin, I can’t keep letting myself get like this around James – we’re  _friends_ , for Godric’s sake.  
  
I don’t know what’s changed, why the tension and attraction between us is suddenly so much higher than it was last term. I blame New Year’s.   
  
“I should probably take Lila off your hands so you can get to the Prefect meeting,” I tell Dom, scooping the small white kitten off of her lap.  
  
“Fuck, I forgot about that,” she replies. “I better go before Molly tries to hunt me down.”  
  
As she leaves, she catches my eye and gives me a look that clearly expresses something along the lines of ‘what on earth was that?’   
  
I hope that she forgets about it by the time we get to the dormitory this evening, because I don’t have an answer to her question.  
  
I fall into the seat next to Fred, who’s now unintentionally acting as a buffer between me and James. I need the space to clear my head.  
  
The first half of the train ride passes by rather uneventfully. The compartment falls back into casual conversation, largely revolving around how we spent our holidays. The Weasleys and Potters have slightly less to contribute to this conversation, given that they spent most of the holidays with each other.  
  
Dom comes back after an hour or so, reclaiming her position by the window with her legs across Alec’s lap.  
  
“So how’d the prefect meeting go?” Fred asks. “Any new ridiculous rules Molly’s decided to put into place?”  
  
“No, actually,” Dom responds. “Although, she was, like, abnormally happy. And I understand that she gets a little bit of a power trip from being Head Girl and addressing all the prefects and all, but this was a bit excessive for that.”  
  
Looks like Davies took our conversation to heart and finally did something about his obvious crush on Molly. Thank Merlin.  
  
“I wonder if it has to do with Davies,” Amelie muses.  
  
“I have a pretty good feeling it does,” I confirm.  
  
Dom looks at me questioningly. “How do you know that?”  
  
“Davies and I had a little chat before we left for holidays,” I explain. “I basically told him to get out of his own head, because he and Molly obviously both fancy the pants off each other.”  
  
“Atta girl.” Amelie beams at me.  
  
“I think you’ve got yourself a new career path,” Dom says. “I can see it now: Abby Winchester, professional matchmaker.”  
  
Somehow I doubt I’m qualified to professionally sort out people’s love lives when I still have no idea what in the name of Merlin is happening with mine.   
  
Regardless, I laugh at her words. “I’ll keep that in mind.”  
  
“You’d pull it off really well,” Alec says. “You could decorate your space to look like something out of Trelawney’s classroom, and people come in expecting this mystical experience and then you essentially just smack them upside the head with some really blunt truths. It’s a great business model.”  
  
“That’s it: I’m opening up my shop in Hogsmeade next month,” I joke.  
  
“I’ll send all of the people trying to buy love potions from Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes in your direction,” Fred supplies.  
  
“And I’m sending you Teddy, because Merlin knows he should’ve proposed to Victoire ages ago,” Dom adds.   
  
“Give him a break, he’s going at his own pace,” James chimes in. And then after a moment, he continues, “And you are  _not_ allowed to repeat this to your sister, but I went ring shopping with Teddy yesterday.”   
  
“ _What!?_ ” Dom almost falls out of her seat.   
  
“He’s planning on proposing within the next month or so,” James elaborates.  
  
“Well good,” Dom replies, regaining her composure. “It’s about fucking time.”  
  
A few moments later, Molly comes bounding in to the compartment.  
  
“Michael asked me on the first Hogsmeade weekend!” she cries, jumping into the open space next to James.  “He also apologized for acting like such a ponce last semester and asked me to be his girlfriend, and oh, life is so good right now!”  
  
Fred and James exchange a look. “Which one of us is responsible for threatening Davies?” Fred asks him.   
  
 “You two are the worst. Leave him alone.”  
  
More eye contact is exchanged between the two male cousins.  
  
“James is on it!” Fred declares.  
  
Molly rolls her eyes. “I can’t believe you two –  _oh my Merlin is that a kitty_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneak peek of chapter 26…
> 
> I change into pyjamas and am just about to go to bed when the door opens and Caroline walks in. She looks around the room for a moment, and then her eyes settle on me.
> 
> “Can we… talk?” she asks hesitantly, not moving from the doorway.
> 
> I can’t deny that her behavior recently has been a subject of curiosity, which is part of the reason I find myself agreeing to hear her out.
> 
> She makes her way over to my bed, and sits on the end of it. She looks like she feels out of place, which is so strange when you consider that she spent every Sunday night of our first six years sitting on it, gossiping.


	26. Complication #26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The people you choose to spend your time with have a profound influence on your character.

Life falls back into a steady routine when I get back to Hogwarts. The professors are ramping up assignments since we have NEWTs in a few short months, and I end up spending most of my free time holed up in the library.    
  
James is usually there as well, but I find that he’s not as much of a distraction when we’re separated by the expanse of wooden table and textbooks as he is when he’s right next to me. When there’s books and parchment between us, it’s easier to remind myself that going any farther than friendship is a bad idea.  
  
On Thursday night, I realize I’m about to fall asleep on the Charms essay I’m working on. James is still fervently writing a Herbology essay, so I leave him to it and walk up to the Ravenclaw Tower alone.   
  
When I get up to the dormitory, it’s completely empty. This kind of surprises me, because it’s almost curfew. I figure Dom’s staying with Alec tonight, but that doesn’t explain the other three.  
  
I change into pyjamas and am just about to go to bed when the door opens and Caroline walks in. She looks around the room for a moment, and then her eyes settle on me. She realizes, like I have, that we’re the only people in the dormitory.  
  
“Can we… talk?” she asks hesitantly, not moving from the doorway.   
  
I can’t deny that her behavior recently has been a subject of my curiosity, which is part of the reason I find myself agreeing to hear her out.  
  
She makes her way over to my bed, and sits on the end of it. She looks like she feels out of place, which is so strange when you consider that she spent every Sunday night of our first six years sitting on it, gossiping.  
  
She stares intensely at her hands, chipping away slightly at the navy blue varnish on her nails. Chipping off nail varnish has always been one of her nervous habits.  
  
“I just – ,” she starts, “I owe you an apology. I shouldn’t have avoided you like Scarlett and Brooke did after Blaise broke up with you like that. I was just so hurt, you know, because you’d lied to us even though we’ve always told each other everything. I thought that’s why Scarlett and Brooke were mad at you too, and I guess to an extent they were mad about it, but I didn’t know anything else.”  
  
She takes a deep breath, and finally looks up at me. “I had no idea Scarlett had done what she did. If I’d known, I never would’ve done what I did. Hell, even if I didn’t know, I wouldn’t abandon you again like that. We just up and left you in a time when you really could’ve used some friends, and I hate myself for doing that to you. I’ve spent the past seven years despising a man who walked out on my mother when we needed him, and I let myself do the same thing to you.”  
  
I’m struck speechless. She's really beaten herself up over this.  
  
“Anyways,” she continues, “I know I’ve been a really horrible friend to you, so I don’t really expect you to forgive me anytime soon, but I’m really sorry for the way I treated you. If you can ever put this past us, I’d really love to be friends again.”  
  
If ever there were a time to get vengeance for what happened last term, this is it. Caroline has just poured her heart out, and it would be all too easy for me to reject her and leave her with no one. Just like she’d done to me a few months before.  
  
But I look at Caroline’s guilty expression, and instantly experience a flashback to a moment on this same bed just a few months before. A moment in which the girl I now consider to be my best friend found it in her heart to forgive me for six years of mistreatment, even though I’d done nothing to deserve her sympathy.   
  
And apparently Dom’s forgiving nature has been a good influence on me, because I find that I’m not actually all that angry at Caroline, and I don’t feel a burning desire to get revenge. If anything, I miss having her around.  
  
So I find myself meeting her eyes and softly responding, “I’d really like to be friends again too.”   
  
That clearly wasn’t the response she was expecting, because an expression of shock takes over her features. “Are you sure?” she asks quietly.  
  
“I’m rather positive,” I reply, a bit more sure-sounding this time. “You should come sit with me at breakfast tomorrow, if you’d prefer that to sitting on your own.”  
  
“I – I’d really like that. Thanks, Abigail.”  
  
“Sounds like a plan.” I give her a soft smile. “And please, call me Abby.”  
  
   
  


* * *

  
  
  
True to my word, I bring Caroline with me to the Gryffindor table the next morning.  
  
Whatever conversation was currently happening turns to silence as my friends notice the dark-haired girl walking next to me.  
  
“Everyone, you know Caroline,” I say, in order to break the awkward silence. “Caroline, this is Alec, Dom, James, Fred, Simon, Louis, Molly, and Amelie.” I point out each person as I say their name, although I’m pretty sure Caroline knows who most of them are anyways.  
  
“And what exactly made you jump ship from your other two friends who ditched Abby here a few months ago?” Fred narrows his eyes slightly at Caroline.   
  
I feel an odd rush of happiness at seeing him behave so protectively towards me, because he was the one who took the longest to warm up to me when I joined their group just a few short months ago. And now, I’m really one of them.  
  
“Well, I found out one of them was a hypocrite and the other didn’t care about anything other than her own popularity,” Caroline replies, rolling her eyes slightly. “So I got rid of the wand stuck up my arse and decided I’d apologize to the one girl who’d been the best friend to me out of all of them.”  
  
Fred studies her for a moment, then his face breaks out into a wide grin. He taps the space next to him on the bench. “Sit.”  
  
And just like that, our group has a new member.  
  
I’m surprised at how easily Caroline fits in with these friends, although really, I shouldn’t be surprised at all. Her sarcasm and wittiness blend perfectly with our typical pace of conversation, and she’s perfectly willing to discuss things beyond Hogwarts gossip.  
  
I don’t miss the withering glare sent my way by Brooke and Scarlett when they notice Caroline’s presence.  
  
“So, James,” Dom starts, “have you started any birthday party planning yet? You’ve only got two weeks.”  
  
James’ birthday parties have always been sort of legendary. He and Fred both have birthdays within a month of each other, and the result of that is a massive bash that’s treated with the same sort of reverence as the back-to-school and Halloween parties.  
  
“Of course I have,” he grins. “Nothing too grand – “  
  
“You say that every year and it ends up being fucking massive,” Simon interrupts.   
  
“It’s our last birthday at Hogwarts, James,” Fred replies. “We’ve gotta go out with a bang.”  
  
“Every birthday party you’ve had since fifth year has gone out with a literal bang for you, Freddy,” Alec responds.  
  
Freddy glares at him, but the smirk on his face betrays the fact that he’s not actually mad. “Not what I meant.”  
  
I stop paying attention to the conversation, because I start thinking about getting James a birthday present. He went above and beyond on his Christmas present for me, so I feel obliged to do the same for this.  
  
How does one outdo a Firebolt? Especially for a bloke who’s got everything?   
  
But suddenly, I have the perfect idea. I make a mental note to owl Diana later today, because I’ll need her help in pulling it off.   
  
“Abby?” Molly’s voice brings me back into the present. “Any particular reason you’re smiling like an idiot to yourself?”  
  
I look across the table at her. “No reason at all,” I reply.  
  
“Well in that case you can smile like an idiot on the way to Potions,” she shoots back, an amused tone to her voice. “We’ll be late otherwise.”  
  
So I grab my bag and follow her out of the Great Hall.  
  
   
  


* * *

  
  
  
“I’m surprised, you know,” James says, as we make our way down to the Quidditch pitch. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d forgive Caroline for what she did to you.”  
  
I shrug, pulling my cloak tighter around me. “The old Abigail wouldn’t have forgiven her. But, I don’t know, a lot has changed since then.”  
  
“You can say that again,” James mutters as side commentary.  
  
I choose to ignore him and continue my response. “I’ve learned that there’s not a lot of value in holding grudges against people when what they did to you didn’t come from bad intentions. Caroline was upset that I’d lied to her – and she doesn’t get over things like that easily. But she didn’t know about Scarlett. And she was horrified when she found out what Scarlett did. And she apologized to me, so I accepted it.”  
  
“Well Fred seemed to warm up to her pretty quickly, and that doesn’t happen very often,” James replies. “So I guess she’s pretty sincere about it – Fred’s got a good sense of that kind of stuff.”  
  
I only nod in response, readjusting my grip on my Firebolt.  
  
“Do you think you’ll ever talk to Scarlett?” he asks. He’s apparently in a particularly chatty mood tonight.  
  
I have to think about that one for a moment. “I don’t have anything to say to her.”  
  
James looks at me, a little surprised. “Really? Nothing at all?”  
  
“I mean, sure, there are things I wish I knew. Like why she did it, and why she was so willing to throw away years of friendship over it. But I don’t think you should ask questions when you don’t really want to hear the answers.”  
  
I don’t want to have to hear that Scarlett and Brooke both chose their popularity and status over me.  
  
Although now, they’ve really got neither.  
  
As we walk onto the pitch, I shake out my ponytail to get out of the somber mood this conversation has gotten me in. “Alright James, less talking, more flying.”  
  
I straddle the broom and shoot up into the sky, and it takes only half a second for James to follow. Now that I’ve got a much nicer broom than the school ones and a few months of experience under my belt, I’m much faster. I can almost keep up with James, which is rather impressive given that the bloke’s easily the best Keeper at Hogwarts.  
  
Granted, if you threw a Quaffle my way, I definitely wouldn’t be able to handle that aspect.  
  
We loop around the pitch a few times, and I think I might scream at James when he recklessly decides to try standing on his broom. And he just smirks at me when he sits back down, clearly entertained by my distress. I fly up next to him and swat him for it.  
  
A loud crack of thunder interrupts our flying session.  
  
“I think that’s our cue to go inside!” I yell at James, who’s about halfway across the pitch.  
  
He rockets towards me. “Scared of a little storm?” he smirks.  
  
“Well, we’re flying objects in the middle of a thunderstorm, which is literally just asking to be struck by lightning,” I reply in a matter-of-fact tone.  
  
“Alright then, let’s go in. One last dive though?”  
  
He doesn’t wait for me to respond, and instead starts shooting towards the ground. I follow suit, hurtling towards the green grass until I’m quite positive I can’t go any further, at which point I pull back upwards quickly, before landing.  
  
I’m still rocky at best with the landing part of flying, so I stumble a bit when my feet hit the ground, and when I finally come to a stop, I’m about six inches from James’ chest.  
  
“Easy there, Abby,” he laughs, and I look up at his amused expression.  
  
He reaches his hand up to push a piece of hair from my face that has fallen out of my ponytail, and his hand lingers there for a moment.  
  
I swear it’s as if time stops in that instant, and all that’s left is the two of us, locking eyes in the last remaining minutes of dusk.   
  
All of a sudden, James’ face is coming closer to my own, and I feel my eyes start to flutter closed of their own accord, even though I know that this is a bad idea.  
  
And then the sky opens up.  
  
It’s just enough to completely ruin the moment, and I let out a shriek of surprise at the fact that we’re both suddenly getting pelted with raindrops.  
  
James grabs my hand, and we both start running back to the castle at full speed. Even going as fast as we possibly can, the rain is coming down hard enough that we’re both soaked to the core with ice-cold rain. We're laughing far too much for two people who are currently at a very real risk of freezing.  
  
The rain has also made quick work of soaking the grounds as well, which means that there’s mud splattering around us as we run as well. I'd normally be a bit more disgusted by this, but oddly enough, I'm not that bothered.  
  
The combination of these things mean that James and I look a complete mess by the time that we finally make it into the Entrance Hall. James’ hair is plastered to his face – probably the first time I’ve ever seen it actually lay flat – and there’s mud splatters all the way up both of our robes.   
  
James has his hands on his knees, breathing hard. I have one hand on his shoulder, holding on to him as I attempt to catch my breath as well. We’re both dripping muddy water onto the stone floor beneath us.  
  
After a few minutes of staying like that, James stands up to his full height, my hand sliding off of his shoulder as he does so.  
  
“Well, that was fun,” he finally says, looking at me and letting out a short laugh.  
  
And I don’t know what makes me do it – some mixture of endorphins and adrenaline and hormones, most likely – but I find myself closing the gap between the two of us and going up on my tip-toes to put my lips on his.   
  
He reciprocates immediately, his hands finding my waist and pulling me in as a soft brush of lips transforms into something more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand it finally happened! Also, any guesses on what Abby’s gift is going to be?
> 
>  
> 
> Sneak peek of chapter 27…
> 
> “You’re avoiding me.”
> 
> Instead of sliding into the seat across from me, James sits next to me.
> 
> I bristle at the close contact, but try to act nonchalant. “I’m not avoiding you. We’ve eaten together multiple times this week.”
> 
> “Let me rephrase: you’re avoiding being alone with me.”
> 
> I can’t argue with that one.


	27. Complication #27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Avoidance is a very poor method of problem-solving.

The responsible part of my brain has gone on holiday, apparently.   
  
Next thing I know, James and I are intensely snogging in an alcove off the Entrance Hall. My hands have wound their way into his still-soaking-wet hair, and his are firmly on my waist, keeping me flush against him as he starts to kiss down my jawline.  
  
“Fuck, you don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this for,” James mumbles into my ear.  
  
I let out a small hum of pleasure. “Since New Year’s?”  
  
“Nah, longer than that. Halloween maybe?” he replies, bringing his lips back to mine again.  
  
I know I should be worried that we’re both still wearing wet, freezing clothing and standing in the middle of the drafty Entrance Hall, but somehow the body heat between us is enough to counteract that. I can’t get enough of him, and this kiss feels like a sweet, wonderful release of everything that I’ve been bottling up and refusing to let myself experience.   
  
I pull away to catch my breath. When I open my eyes, James is looking down at me, breathing just as hard as I am. His lips are swollen and his hair looks wilder than usual, if that’s even possible.  
  
The combination is insanely attractive.   
  
But finally,  _finally_ , my brain starts to work properly.  
  
I pull myself away from him, scrambling to put space between us.  
  
“I – James, we can’t,” I say, panicking slightly.  
  
“Why can’t we?”  
  
The fact that he’s so calm about what just happened between the two of us is oddly reminiscent of the last time we ended up in a position like this, and I  _still_ don't understand how he doesn’t see this as a big deal.  
  
I don’t respond to him. Instead, I grab my broom and run.  
  
I run until I reach the Ravenclaw common room, where I spit out the first thing that comes to mind when the knocker presents me with a riddle. It begrudgingly lets me in, annoyed that I gave it an answer that, while technically correct, was not what it was looking for.   
  
I try not to betray any sort of emotion when I step foot into the common room.   
  
“Looks like someone got caught in the storm, eh?” I hear Molly say, and I look over to see her on the couch, curled up next to Davies as they both fill out paperwork.  
  
“Yeah, something like that,” I reply, before heading up the stairs to my room.   
  
I grab a set of pyjamas from my trunk and take them with me into the bathroom, where I turn the shower as hot as it’ll go. I step under the stream of water, completely numb to the scalding water hitting my skin as I think through what’s just happened.   
  
Merlin, why did I have to kiss him?  
  
I’ve made a right mess of things.   
  
I mean, I don’t even  _like_ James in that sort of way. I have absolutely no intention of dating him, and given his extremely limited romantic past, I don’t think he’s exactly the relationship type anyways.  
  
And despite all of that, he’s annoyingly attractive and making any sort of extended eye contact with him makes me want nothing more than to snog the living daylights out of him.  
  
Which I basically just did.   
  
But there’s still no denying the fact that dating James is out of the question and that any sort of snog buddy scenario is bound to end in disaster. They always do.   
  
My skin is bright pink from the hot water, and I’m no closer to a solution to this problem that I’ve created for myself than I was when I got here.  
  
I turn off the water, put on my pyjamas, and crawl into bed.  
  
   
  


* * *

  
  
  
I go to breakfast absurdly early – early enough, in fact, that there is not a single Potter or Weasley in the Great Hall when I get there. Which is exactly what I was hoping for.  
  
I settle onto a bench at the Ravenclaw table, content to sit on my own with a cup of coffee and a book until more people start showing up.  
  
I’m interrupted from this nice, relaxing morning by a blonde figure sitting across from me. I look up to find myself face-to-face with Scorpius Malfoy.  
  
“Abby,” he smiles. “Just the person I wanted to talk to.”   
  
I cock my head to the side. I can’t quite imagine why he was looking for me in particular.  
  
“Rumour has it you’re our resident matchmaker,” he continues. “And I need your help.”  
  
News has spread rather quickly amongst the Potter/Weasley group that I'm part of the reason Davies and Molly have started dating. Although Scorpius is the first to find me for advice.   
  
I can’t help but think that it’s a bit ironic that I’m about to attempt to give advice to someone else on their love life when mine is currently a complete trainwreck.  
  
“Wouldn’t quite call myself a matchmaker,” I reply, taking another sip of my coffee. “But what can I help with?”   
  
Scorpius’ ears turn a little pink. “So, erm, I kind of fancy Rose.”  
  
I nod. “And?”   
  
“Why are you not falling off your seat in surprise?” he asks, getting a little heated at my nonchalance. “I just told you I fancy one of my best mates – who also happens to be the cousin of my other best mate – and all you do is  _nod_?”  
  
“Because I’ve known you fancied her for months now.”  
  
Now he’s the one that looks like he’s about to fall off of his seat. “ _How_??”  
  
I resist the urge to laugh, because I don’t think Scorpius would appreciate that. “Because I see the way you look at her when you think no one’s paying attention.”  
  
The subtle blush turns into a full-fledged one as his pale skin turns a rather fetching shade of magenta.  
  
“Who else knows?” he finally asks.  
  
“No one else, that I know of,” I answer, and I see him visibly relax. “None of the Potter/Weasleys seem to be particularly perceptive when it comes to relationship stuff, so I think you’re probably in the clear.”  
  
He smiles a little at that. “Yeah, they’re all pretty dense on that front, aren’t they? Al told Cecile last week that her new dress made her look like a Christmas tree, and didn’t see any problem with saying that until she started yelling at him for being an inconsiderate twat.”  
  
I laugh at that. “So, why’d you tell me this information about Rose anyways?”  
  
“Because I don’t know what to do about it,” he confesses.  
  
I want to roll my eyes. “You take her out on a date, that’s what you do. Ask her to Hogsmeade – it doesn’t have to be anything big, but at least that way you’ll know where you stand. And while Rose doesn’t exactly have a track record for being any type of romantic – you said it yourself, Weasleys are pretty dense about that stuff – I’m pretty sure that she’ll eventually realize that she’s got feelings for you too.”  
  
Scorpius sighs. “I was hoping for some sort of magical solution, but instead I got the realistic one.”  
  
“And that’s exactly the type of matchmaking services I provide,” I grin at him.  
  
I look up at the door, and realize that James, Fred, Alec, and Simon are walking in. I turn back to Scorpius. “On that note, I’ve got to go. Good luck with Rose.”  
  
He returns my small smile. “Thanks, Abby.”  
  
With that, I rush out of the Great Hall, making a distinct effort to ignore the fact that I can feel James’ eyes on me. I go all the way to Ravenclaw Tower – the one place I’m guaranteed to not run into him.  
  
How frustrating is it that I can be so helpful with other people’s love lives and so completely useless when it comes to my own?  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
I almost surprise myself with my own acting skills when James is involved. After that first breakfast, I successfully manage to join my friends at mealtimes without making things awkward. There’s enough of us that it’s not too hard to avoid any direct interaction with him.  
  
There’s a ton of buzz about the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend across Hogwarts, which is why I’m only slightly surprised when I feel a tap on my shoulder at dinner and turn around to see Ethan Clark, a seventh year Slytherin, looking back at me.  
  
“Hi Abby,” he says, shooting me a dazzling smile. “How are you?”  
  
“I’m… good,” I respond. I’m pretty sure I know exactly where this conversation is going to go.  
  
“Lovely. Anyways, I was wondering if you’d like to go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?”  
  
Objectively, he’s a pretty attractive bloke, with sandy blond hair, a great smile, and a good body from Quidditch. Subjectively, however, I’m not interested.  
  
“As much as I appreciate the offer, Ethan, I already made plans with my friends,” I tell him. “Maybe next time though?”  
  
His smile falls a fraction, but he doesn’t look too cut up by my response. “Alright then, I figured I’d at least ask now that one of the prettiest girls at Hogwarts is on the market again. See you around.”   
  
I resist the urge to correct him and tell him that I’ve been on the market since October, but it’s only recently that the news about Blaise made everyone stop looking at me like some sort of harlot.  
  
When he walks away, I look back at my table to see a number of curious eyes on me. And James is staring intently at his dinner plate. I'm pretty sure he's trying to conceal a smirk.  
  
“I think that’s quite possibly the nicest I’ve ever seen you talk to anyone,” Fred says finally.  
  
“Not to mention that none of us have plans so I’m pretty sure you lied to avoid hurting his feelings,” Caroline adds. “Which is rather out of character for you.”  
  
I shrug. “I didn’t want to make a scene.”  
  
“I’ve never really gotten the hype about Hogsmeade dates anyways,” James adds, finally looking back up from his plate. “Seems like a lot of effort when all either party really cares about is the snog at the end.”  
  
“That’s because you’ve got the romantic capacity of a flobberworm,” Dom tells him.  
  
“Hey now!” he argues through a mouthful of food. “I could be romantic if I wanted to be. I just choose not to.”   
  
“Debatable,” Amelie quips, as she helps herself to the dessert that’s just appeared.  
  
“The day you and Freddy both find yourselves in committed relationships is going to be the weirdest day of my life,” Molly laughs.  
  
   
  


* * *

  
  
  
I’m working on a Herbology essay in the Hufflepuff common room with Dom, Molly, Caroline, and Amelie when I realize that I need a few notes from a particular library book if I’m going to write this next section properly. I’m also getting a bit of a headache from trying to concentrate on my essay while the younger students around us are noisily playing games, so a temporary escape is much needed.  
  
I tell all four of them that I’m going to get a book, hoping that one of them will volunteer to tag along, but it seems that none of them have reached a good stopping point in their own essays. So I accept that I’ll be visiting the library on my own.   
  
I quickly find the book I need from the Herbology section, sliding it off the shelf and offhandedly flipping to the section of information I’m looking for.  
  
I find myself walking towards the History of Magic section out of habit, but I stop before I turn the corner. I slowly peek around – it’d be nice to get some work done in this peace and quiet, but I’d prefer not to run into James here.  
  
We still haven’t talked about what happened, and I still don’t even know what I’d say if we did talk about it.  
  
Luckily, our table is empty, so I go over and claim it. I sit down and lay my essay out in front of me, starting to add in the relevant information that I need from  _Goshawk’s Guide to Herbology_.  
  
I hear footsteps, and vaguely consider hiding behind a bookshelf just in case the footsteps in question belong to James. But I like to think I’m at least a little more mature than physically hiding from him.  
  
But as the figure rounds the corner, I immediately want to hide anyways. My instincts were correct, and it’s James staring back at me. I feel my cheeks burn as I look back down at my essay.  
  
I should’ve known staying here was a bad idea.  
  
“You’re avoiding me."   
  
Instead of sliding into the seat across from me, James sits next to me.  
  
I bristle at the close contact, but try to act nonchalant. “I’m not avoiding you. We’ve eaten together multiple times this week.”  
  
“Let me rephrase: you’re avoiding being alone with me.”  
  
I can’t argue with that one.  
  
So instead, I stand up to leave. I don’t trust myself being this close to him.  
  
I’m stopped, however, by James grabbing my hand. He stands up as well. “Abby, stop. Don’t leave.”  
  
I look up at him, locking eyes and spilling exactly how I feel about this situation. “When has something like this ever gone well? Casual things always get messy, James.”  
  
I don’t even suggest the alternative to something casual, because I know that’s most certainly not what he’s after.  
  
“Well I hate to break it to you, but things started getting messy after the first week of term,” he replies. And then his face softens a little. “Abby, you know, it’s okay to do something without having a perfect plan in place for once in your life. You’re allowed to do something simply because you want to. And I’m pretty sure you want to do this, even if you’re not letting yourself think you do.”  
  
Once again, he proves himself to be annoyingly perceptive. He knows exactly why I’m so resistant for something like this to happen. I’m not the type of person who likes doing anything on a whim or without a designated purpose – I thrive on having clear plans in front of me. Spontaneity and risk-taking aren’t in my bones. It’s one thing that’s stuck with me, even throughout the tumultuous changes in who I am otherwise.   
  
He reaches up and pushes a piece of hair away from my face, his hand lingering on the side of my face. “You have complete control. Tell me to stop, tell me you don’t want this – and I’ll walk away. We’ll pretend none of this ever happened. It’s up to you.”  
  
He dips his head down, and starts to place featherlight kisses down my neck. I feel my skin burning in every place his lips touch.  
  
I have all the power in this situation, but at the same time, I feel absolutely powerless. When James is this close to me, with his hand on his cheek and his mouth on my skin, there’s absolutely no denying the magnetism between us.  
  
His lips hit a particularly sensitive spot, and I feel like I might melt into the floor.   
  
Sod it all. It’ll be totally fine if we just do this until the sexual tension finally lets up, right?  
  
I grab James by the collar, pulling him upward so that his lips find mine. I can feel him smirk into the kiss, but I can’t find it in me to be annoyed with how pleased he is with himself. I wrap my arms around his neck and relish the sensation of finally giving in completely to the temptation that is James Potter.  
  
He spins me around and backs me into the bookcase. I feel his hands grab onto my hips, lifting me up a few inches so that I’m sitting on the extended edge of one of the bookshelves. I use this new position to wrap my legs around him, pulling him even closer to me. My back is jammed into the bookshelves in a completely uncomfortable manner and the spines of a few books are digging into my spine, but my focus is elsewhere. Namely, on the pair of lips moving against mine.  
  
This feeling of desperation, of pure and borderline-insatiable desire, is something entirely new to me. Blaise and I snogged more times than I can count, but it was never like this.   
  
This feels like Firewhiskey flooding through my veins, warming my entire body from the inside out, consuming and intoxicating me.   
  
And when I’ve finally had my fill, I pull back. James and I lock eyes, our chests rising and falling rapidly.   
  
“Next time,” I manage to get out, my voice extraordinarily breathy, “we’re picking somewhere more private than the library.”  
  
He rests his forehead on mine. “When’s the last time you saw anyone come over to the History of Magic section?”   
  
“Still,” I insist, “if we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it well. And that includes making sure no one finds out.”  
  
James laughs softly, and we’re still close enough that I can feel it rumble through his chest. “Sounds like a plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneak peek of chapter 28…
> 
> “You’re in an exceptionally chipper mood,” Caroline observes on the way back from dinner one night.
> 
> I shrug and run my fingers through my hair, finding the knots on the underside that were definitely not my doing. “Just having a good day, that’s all,” I reply.
> 
> “A good week is more like it,” Dom throws in. “You’ve been like this for the past few days. It’s weird.”
> 
> “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re in love or something like that,” Caroline adds.


	28. Complication #28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finding what you want to commit yourself to for the rest of your life is a daunting concept.

Becoming snog buddies – for lack of a better term – with James is actually a rather simple transition. We spend a decent amount of time alone anyways, so it’s really just a matter of tacking an extra 15 minutes or so onto those flying or study sessions.  
  
I’m spending far too much time in abandoned classrooms and underneath Quidditch stands (although I draw the line at broom closets), but I find that it takes about 30 seconds of kissing James to entirely stop caring about what strange location we’re in.  
  
It’s not like he’s some sort of expert snogger or anything like that, but there’s something about the way that energy passes between the two of us that makes the rest of the world disappear when his lips are on mine.  
  
“You’re in an exceptionally chipper mood,” Caroline observes on the way back from dinner one night.  
  
I shrug and run my fingers through my hair, finding the knots on the underside that were definitely not my doing. “Just having a good day, that’s all,” I reply.  
  
“A good week is more like it,” Dom throws in. “You’ve been like this for the past few days. It’s weird.”  
  
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re in love or something like that,” Caroline adds.  
  
I laugh. “Well good thing you know better. Because it’s definitely not that.   
  
Lust? Definitely. Love? Not at all.  
  
When the three of us walk into the Ravenclaw common room, I’m a bit surprised to see the seventh year boys gathered around a bulletin board. Blaise is one of them, so I keep my distance.   
  
I catch Davies’ eye. “Flitwick put up career advising appointments,” he explains.  
  
When the boys clear out, I look at the board myself. I’m scheduled to meet with Flitwick tomorrow afternoon.   
  
I think back to the similar advising appointment I’d had with him in fifth year. At that appointment, I’d spewed some rehearsed rubbish about how I wasn’t sure that the working world was meant for me, but that I was planning on continuing my core classes until graduation.   
  
But this time, this appointment actually matters. Because now, I don’t have a wealthy future husband offering to pay for all of my expenses. I’m actually going to get a real job after I graduate, which both terrifies and excites me.   
  
“I can’t wait to explain to Flitwick,  _again_ , that it doesn’t matter what scores I get on my NEWTs because grades don’t matter for professional Quidditch.” Dom rolls her eyes.  
  
“But at least this year you’ll have all your tryout offers as proof that you don’t need a back-up plan,” I reply, and she grins at that.  
  
   
  


* * *

  
  
  
I wish I could say my hands aren’t shaking as I wait outside Flitwick’s office the following afternoon. I’m not scared of the Head of House himself – he’s pretty harmless, after all – but I’m nervous about how little I know about my own future. As someone who’s constantly trying to make every little detail perfect, it’s maddening that I haven’t figured out this big one quite yet.  
  
“Miss Winchester?” Flitwick’s voice resonates. “You can come in now.”  
  
I walk into his office, putting on a much braver face than how I actually feel right now.  
  
“Have a seat,” he says as soon as I enter the room, gesturing to the dark blue upholstered chair across from his desk. “How are you doing today?”  
  
“I’m fine,” I say quickly, sitting down.  
  
“Have you given any more thoughts to your career path, Miss Winchester? I know when we met in fifth year you weren’t interested in choosing a career, but, ah, I believe circumstances have changed since then, am I correct?”  
  
I can tell that this is Flitwick's not-crossing-any-professional-lines way of confirming that I’d broken up with Blaise.  
  
“That’s correct, sir,” I respond, forcing a smile. “Although I’m still not entirely sure what that career will be.”  
  
“Well then, Miss Winchester, do you have any particular ideas? Looking at your NEWT classes and your marks, you’ve got a number of options. Professor Wright mentioned that you’re one of the top students in your year for Defence. Is there anything you’d like to do related to that?”   
  
I think about James and I’s conversation on New Year’s. He’s right – I love the subject.  
  
“Possibly,” I finally reply. “Although I’m not really sure what my options are. I don’t think I really want to be on the front lines or anything like that.”   
  
I’m not a risk-taker, that much is obvious. It took a significant amount of convincing to take the risk of snogging James in secret, which is a pretty minor risk in the long run. Chasing down dark wizards doesn’t exactly seem like my cup of tea.  
  
“You might be interested in the investigative department of the Auror Office, Miss Winchester.” Flitwick digs through the piles of pamphlets on his desk before finding the one he’s looking for and handing it to me. “They do a lot of the behind-the-scenes work – figuring out the perpetrators of crimes, deciphering dark magic, that type of thing. It’s heavily Defence-based, but there’s a greater emphasis on theory and problem-solving than on face-to-face confrontations.”  
  
I stare at the paper he’s handed me, a grey background with gold writing. “That sounds… perfect.”  
  
“It’s an incredibly competitive program, Miss Winchester. Since you have top marks, you’re definitely eligible, but they don’t take new applicants on a yearly basis like the Auror Office as a whole does. I’d suggest sending in an application as soon as possible, if this is something you’re interested in. That way, you have an opportunity to consider some back-up options if they choose not to make any new hires this year.”  
  
He stuffs an additional few pamphlets in my hands, but none of them appeal quite as much as the first one.  
  
“Thank you, Professor,” I finally say, standing up to leave.  
  
I can’t decide if I feel more or less confident in my future at this point. But at least I have a next step, and that thought makes me incredibly happy.  
  
As I’m about to leave, I hear Flitwick speak again. “For the record, Miss Winchester, I’m very glad that you’ve gotten serious about a career. You never quite seemed the type to stay home and play housewife.”  
  
And there we have the slightly-less-professional-but-still-somewhat-professional way of Flitwick telling me that he’s glad Blaise and I broke up. I smile at that.  
  
I’m still smiling to myself when I get to the library. James, however, isn’t quite as happy as I am. Instead, he’s scowling at the table.  
  
“What did the poor library table ever do to you?” I ask, trying to lighten his mood.  
  
He looks up at me, his scowl softening slightly. “Nothing,” he mumbles.  
  
He’s clearly worked himself into some sort of strop. I’ve discovered that I’m surprisingly good at talking him down when he gets himself into moods like this, so I decide to do something about it. “Come on, let’s go for a walk.”   
  
I expect him to ask questions, but instead he just stands up and stuffs his hands in his pockets, following me out of the library.  
  
Once we’re walking through the corridors, I look at him. “Care to tell me why you’re in such a foul mood?”   
  
He sighs. “I had my career advising thing with Wright this afternoon.”   
  
“And?”   
  
“And there’s nothing out there that I can do.”  
  
I stop walking at that, and it takes him a few moments to realize I’ve stopped walking with him. He turns around and looks at me.   
  
“That’s a load of dragon dung, and you know it, James,” I say, my voice sharp. “I’ve seen how hard you're capable of working this past year, and your marks reflect that. There’s so much that you’re capable of doing after graduation.”   
  
“Except anything that I have any interest in doing, I’ve already been outdone in!” he cries, raking a hand through his hair in frustration. “I mean, there’s the Ministry – my aunt’s the current frontrunner for the next fucking Minister for Magic, there’s Quidditch – my mum won the bloody World Cup, there’s Diagon Alley – my uncle owns the most popular shop there.”   
  
He tallies these off on his fingers while he talks. “Oh, and we can’t forget the fact that my dad saved the entire damn world, so there’s that!”  
  
It’s this complex of his again. I can’t blame him for it, but I want him to see that it’s entirely pointless.    
  
I grab his hand, and he looks down at me. In my flat school shoes, I’m a full head shorter than him.   
  
“No one expects you to save the world, James,” I tell him. “Actually, I think we’d all be more than content to not have to deal with another dark wizard trying to kill everyone who disagrees with him just so you can live up to your father’s legacy or whatever you’ve somehow convinced yourself that you’re expected to do.”  
  
The corner of his mouth quirks upwards a little at that.  
  
“And as for the rest of it, you shouldn’t let what your family has and hasn’t done affect your own career choices. This is going to sound horribly clichéd and I’m sorry for that, but you need to do what makes you happy. If it just so happens that you end up in the same line of work as one of your family members, so what? It doesn’t have to be a competition. Just do something that you enjoy doing.”  
  
James stares at me for a moment, unable to form a response.  
  
“I guess you have a point,” he finally mumbles.  
  
I can’t resist the urge to smirk at him. “Yes, I do.” And after a few seconds, I add, “So what is it that  _you_  wantto do with the rest of your life, ignoring whatever the rest of your family has or hasn’t done?”   
  
“I don’t know, I usually don’t let myself think about that,” he admits, and it sounds like he’s finally starting to see sense. “But I might like to do something in Magical Law. You know, arguing cases in front of the Wizengamot and the like.”  
  
“You’d be a natural, given your tendency to argue,” I confirm. “Although you do realize you can’t end  _those_  arguments by hexing anyone, right?”  
  
That finally gets him to smile. “Oh hush up.”  
  
He’s made the opportunity all too available, and a familiar feeling settles in the pit of my stomach. I like that I no longer have to fight it. “Make me.”  
  
And he does, dragging me into an empty classroom and locking it in the process.  
  
   
  


* * *

  
  
  
The walk to Hogsmeade makes me realize just how many of my friends are in relationships now.    
  
Dom and Alec are holding hands, walking with the sort of easy comfort of two people who’ve been together for a while. His Gryffindor scarf is wrapped around her neck, standing out in sharp contrast to her black cloak and platinum hair.  
  
Molly’s laughing at something Davies just said, nudging him in the side. He grabs her hand and gives it a squeeze, and she looks up at him, smiling.  
  
Louis has his arm wrapped around Simon’s shoulders protectively, and the two of them just look like they were made to be held by the other. Simon’s slightly shorter, so his head fits perfectly into the crook of Louis’ neck when he leans it toward him.  
  
They all look so happy, and I can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. Even though I know that my lack of a date is entirely my own doing.  
  
I could be walking here with Ethan Clark, but instead I’ve got Fred, Caroline, Amelie, and James. I much prefer the company of the latter four, but I’d be foolish not to acknowledge that a part of me still wants some sort of cute relationship like the three couples in front of me.    
  
I also wonder what would’ve happened with this whole James situation if I’d said yes to Ethan. We never set any real boundaries to this thing that we’re doing, so I’m not even sure what the rules are when it comes to seeing other people.  
  
I glance over at the boy in question. He’s walking with the same sort of casual confidence that he always does, and I can’t help but to be momentarily fascinated by the multifaceted personality that is James Potter. He’s so many things all at once – too laidback at times yet too intense at others, perceptive about certain things and thick as a board about others, reckless and ridiculous and overwhelming. It’s a wonder that all those pieces somehow meld together to create a cohesive person.  
  
James catches me staring at him. He interprets my intense analysis of his character as something else entirely, and gives me a look that says, ‘later.’   
  
For all of his other complications, he truly has a one-track mind.   
  
When we finally make it to the Three Broomsticks, the three couples all nab their own tables, leaving the five of us to claim a booth of our own. The topic of conversation turns to, of all things, the Hufflepuff vs. Slytherin match tomorrow.   
  
“Why does Hufflepuff’s team have to be such rubbish this year?” Amelie complains.  
  
“Because you lost Boot, and he scored 90% of your team’s goals last year,” James answers.   
  
“He’s doing incredibly on Pride of Portree now though, so Hufflepuff has that to brag about at least,” Fred adds.  
  
“Except when they played Appleby,” James responds, a hint of pride in his voice. “Huxley only let him score once.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, we all know you’re basically in love with the Arrows’ Keeper,” Fred shoots back with a roll of his eyes. “But onto more important things – Caroline, is this going to be your first Quidditch match?”  
  
“I wasn’t aware that I was going to this one,” she responds flippantly, taking a sip of her butterbeer. I should’ve warned her that this would open a whole new can of flobberworms.  
  
“Of course you’re going!” James exclaims, earning a few startled glances from the other students sitting around us.  
  
Fred joins in. “You can’t just  _skip_ a Quidditch match!”   
  
“Except that’s what I’ve been doing for the past six and a half years.”  
  
“Well you’ve got all of us forcing you to go now,” Fred responds, slinging an arm around her shoulder. “You’ll fall in love with it just like Abby did.”  
  
“Hm, we’ll see about that,” she replies snarkily, but there’s a definitive look of happiness in her eyes and she seems to be completely comfortable with Fred’s arm around her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneak peek of chapter 29…
> 
> “What’s in the box?” Fred asks, peeking at it as I stuff it into my bag.
> 
> “None of your business.”
> 
> “Aw, come on, open it! What’s the point of getting mail delivered in the middle of breakfast if you don’t open it in front of everyone?” he insists.
> 
> “Some mail isn’t meant to be opened in the Great Hall,” I say simply. I realize afterwards that the implication of that sounds totally different than what I intended.
> 
> “Are you suggesting that you just got lingerie delivered to Hogwarts? Because I had no idea your love life had taken such a sordid turn lately, Abby!”
> 
> If only he knew how often I’ve been snogging his cousin lately.


	29. Complication #29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feelings can arise at the most inconvenient of times.

The morning I send my application off to the Auror Office is the same day that I get a package in the mail from Diana. I don’t have to open it to know that it’s exactly what I asked her to get for me. I do, however, have to keep my friends from trying to open it themselves at breakfast.  
  
“What’s in the box?” Fred asks, peeking at it as I stuff it into my bag.  
  
“None of your business.”  
  
“Aw, come on, open it! What’s the point of getting mail delivered in the middle of breakfast if you don’t open it in front of everyone?” he insists.  
  
“Some mail isn’t meant to be opened in the Great Hall,” I say simply. I realize afterwards that the implication of that sounds totally different than what I intended.  
  
“Are you suggesting that you just got lingerie delivered to Hogwarts? Because I had no idea your love life had taken such a sordid turn lately, Abby!” Fred places his hand over his heart in mock surprise.   
  
If only he knew how often I’ve been snogging his cousin lately.   
  
“Mind out of the gutter, Freddy.” I swat his arm for good measure.  
  
“It never leaves,” he reassures me.  
  
“A fact you’ve made brutally honest to all of us,” Caroline chimes in from her seat on the other side of Fred.  
  
Of all the new people I’ve introduced Caroline to, Freddy is surprisingly the one she’s clicked the most with. His dumb, childish sense of humour mixes well with her dry, sarcastic one – a combination that shouldn’t go well together but somehow does.   
  
They spent the entirety of the Hufflepuff/Slytherin match throwing witty remarks back and forth and – much to Fred and James’ delight – Caroline even admitted she enjoyed the match afterwards.  
  
“So onto a topic that mixes slightly better with the fact that I’m trying to  _enjoy my breakfast_ ,” Dom interjects, “are you guys all set for the party tomorrow?”  
  
“Of course we are,” James replies. “You should know better than anyone that we take our roles as the party planners of Hogwarts very seriously.”  
  
Amelie rolls her eyes at James’ comment. “You literally have a room that does all the set-up for you – the only thing you’re responsible for is sneaking in the alcohol.”   
  
“And that’s a very serious responsibility,” Simon confirms.  
  
“Whatever you say.”   
  
   
  


* * *

  
  
  
Since three Ravenclaws outnumbers two Hufflepuffs, Molly and Amelie come to our dormitory to get ready for the party. I notice that Scarlett and Brooke are nowhere to be seen; odd, because even given our resentment of the Fits, we never missed one of their parties.   
  
Dom wears a sparkly black tank top and black skinny jeans, and her legs look about 10 miles long. Our 3-inch height difference has never felt as obvious as it does right now. She’s easily dressed the fanciest out of all of us; it’s really the sparkles that do it.  
  
I pick out a black swishy skirt and a cropped dark green jumper with a wide neckline. The most important aspect of my outfit, however, lies in the black lace straps visible on my shoulders. I’ve swapped my normal bra out for a thin, lacy one – something I can pull off since I’m a bit on the smaller-chested side and something I’m positive James will appreciate it when we inevitably end up snogging at some point tonight.  
  
I also grab James’ gift before we leave, throwing it into a purse with an Undetectable Extension Charm on it.  
  
We get to the party right when it starts, although Caroline grumbles a little bit about getting there so early. Like me, she’s accustomed to showing up to parties at least 10 minutes late.  
  
As a result, the only people there are the four boys, setting up the bar. Although it’s not so much “setting up” as it is all of them throwing the alcohol on a counter and immediately taking shots.  
  
I roll my eyes before joining them for a round.  
  
It doesn’t take long for the party to pick up after that, and soon the room is packed. Music is blasting and a bunch of people are already dancing like crazy. It’s amazing how fast Firewhiskey kicks in.  
  
I find James on one of the couches, drinking a butterbeer with an uncharacteristic slowness. I’m a bit surprised he’s not drunk already, because that’s usually his modus operandi at events like this. Louis and Simon are on the other end of saidcouch, and Fred’s sitting nearby in an armchair.   
  
“I have something for you,” I tell James as I sit in the small amount of space next to him.  
  
He raises his eyebrows. “You do?”  
  
I nod, reaching into my bag and producing his gift. I’d charmed the original box to be dark blue, with a light blue bow on top.   
  
He stares at the packaging, and I have to nudge him to get him to move. “Open it.”  
  
And so he does, lifting the box lid to reveal an Appleby Arrows jersey.  
  
“Wicked,” he says, running his fingers across the silky fabric.  
  
“Flip it over,” I tell him.  
  
He pulls the jersey out of the box and turns it around. “You got a Huxley one, that’s fantastic – wait,  _what the fuck Abby!_?”  
  
He drops the jersey back onto his lap in shock. His eyes look like they’re about to pop out of my head and I feel a rush of joy – I did good.   
  
“Is – is this autographed?” he finally gets out.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“But that’s impossible! Huxley doesn’t sign anything!”  
  
“Not if your future stepmum’s parents are family friends of his,” I grin at him.  
  
Really, I have him to thank for his own birthday present, because I never would’ve discovered that connection if I didn’t go to Diana’s parents’ house for Christmas dinner.  
  
“This is brilliant – absolutely bloody brilliant,” he replies, his fingers lightly brushing over Huxley’s signature. “Really, Abby, I could kiss you for this!”   
  
He hugs me, using the opportunity to whisper in my ear, his voice deeper this time. “Scratch that, I  _will_ kiss you for this. Second corridor, first classroom on the left, 10 minutes.”  
  
I suppress a smile as he leans back. “I’m going to put this somewhere that’s safe from drunk idiots,” he announces to the group, before getting up and leaving.  
  
“Abby, I think you’ve just made James’ night,” Fred tells me, taking a sip of butterbeer. “And that’s saying something, because he’s not even drunk yet.”   
  
“Just trying to get even for the Firebolt,” I respond.   
  
Simon chuckles. “You definitely did.”  
  
I participate in the conversation for a few more minutes, and then make my excuse to leave. “I’m going to go get another drink,” I tell them.  
  
I walk towards the drinks table, but turn away from it at the last minute and sneak out the Room of Requirement exit.  
  
It takes all of ten seconds after I walk into the classroom for James to have me up against a wall, holding both of my hands above my head with one of his hands while the other hand plays at the bottom of my jumper.  
  
At this point, I’m starting to think that I’m basically James’ guinea pig for new snogging techniques he wants to test out, because he’s constantly experimenting with different things to do with his hands and mouth. I’m a fan of this one.  
  
His free hand starts to wander up my shirt while his tongue traces my bottom lip, and I shudder as his fingers slide across my stomach. His hand goes higher and higher up my torso until his thumb runs along the underside of my breast, separated from his touch by only a thin layer of lace.  
  
He groans into the kiss at the contact, and I can tell that my choice of undergarments is having the exact effect on him that I’d expected it would.  
  
“Shirt – off,” he growls into my ear.  
  
He releases my hands from above my head, and I quickly oblige him, discarding the jumper on the floor and immediately reacquainting myself with his lips again.  
  
He backs me into a row of desks, laying me down on my back. His lips pull away from mine, but quickly attach themselves to my collarbone. He plants hot, open-mouthed kisses on my body, working his way from my neck to the lacy outline of my bralette, and then down my stomach. I instinctively arch my back to give him better access.  
  
While his mouth is focused on my upper body, his hands slide under my skirt. I don’t pay any mind to it until he reaches the hem of my knickers.    
  
At that, I slide a finger under his chin, pulling his face away from my body while I sit up. His eyes are still smoldering, but there’s a hint of confusion there as well. I wasn’t sure if we’d ever hit this point, but I feel like it’s important to address it now that we have.  
  
“I know this is going to sound hypocritical given the events of earlier this year,” I say, suddenly conscious of the fact that I’m not wearing a shirt as I tell him this, “but I don’t want to have sex with anyone again until I’m sure it means something.”  
  
“Okay,” James nods, taking a step back and pulling his hands away. He looks like he’s been chastised.   
  
“Oi, that doesn’t mean I don’t want you to kiss me,” I smirk. “Get back here – I wasn’t done with you.”   
  
He steps forward again, and his lips find mine. It’s a little softer this time, like he’s nervous he’ll cross a line if he puts too much force into it. Merlin, I told him I didn’t want to have sex, not that he needs to handle me with kid gloves. So I take control, intensifying the kiss and gripping onto the front of his shirt. It takes a moment, but he finally starts to match my intensity again.  
  
Eventually, I pull back, and the burning look I saw in James’ eyes earlier is back. “Come on, birthday boy,” I say, grinning. “We’ve got to get you back to the party before people start thinking you’ve abandoned your own celebration.”  
  
“Might need a cold shower before that,” he mutters.  
  
And James’ kiss has me feeling giddy, so I react to that by pulling my wand out of my skirt pocket and thinking,  _Aguamenti_.  
  
A jet of water shoots out from my wand, and James is instantly left spluttering and dripping wet.   
  
“What was that for?”  
  
I smirk. “You said you needed a cold shower, so…”  
  
“Not what I meant,” he grumbles.  
  
I giggle at him before waving my wand again to dry him off. “Better?”  
  
He’s got a look in his eyes that I can’t quite place. “You’re really something else, Abby Winchester.”  
  
There’s a swooping in my stomach at his words, different from what I feel when I’m about to snog him. I try not to think about what it might mean. “Head back to the Room of Requirement. I’ll be there in 5 minutes, so don’t take too many shots without me.”   
  
“You make it sound like my automatic reaction to walking into a party is to immediately get plastered.”  
  
“Wouldn’t be the first time.”  
  
“Touché,” he smirks, before walking out the door.  
  
I’m left sitting there for the requisite 5 minutes before I head back to the party. When I re-enter the Room of Requirement, I find myself briefly musing that, even if we had showed up at the same time, we likely wouldn’t arouse any suspicion. The room is dark, the music is loud, and almost everyone has a decent amount of alcohol in their systems. If we’d managed to sneak out of the start-of-term party unnoticed, it probably wouldn’t have been all that difficult to sneak into this one without being seen.  
  
But better safe than caught, I suppose.  
  
I find James hanging around the bar. Molly and Davies are nowhere to be found, but everyone else is clustered here.  
  
“Abby!’ James says when I approach the group. “I’ve been looking all over for you – where’d you get off to?”  
  
His acting skills are truly rather impressive. If Magical Law doesn’t work out for him, maybe he can go into the Muggle film industry.  
  
“Clearly you weren’t looking hard enough,” I shoot back, playing along. “You lot look much too sober – what kind of birthday party is this anyways?”  
  
That’s apparently all the suggestion anyone needs to digress into complete anarchy. In a matter of seconds, I’m holding a shot in each hand and taking each in quick succession.   
  
I get the feeling it’s going to be a wild night.

 

* * *

   
  
About an hour later, I realize that my intuition is correct. James and Fred each decided 18-second pulls of Firewhiskey to match their new ages, and it’s been completely downhill from there. The crowds are starting to thin out, and twelve or so of us have completely taken over the small sitting area that the Room of Requirement decided to conjure.  
  
Dom and I end up sharing an armchair, and she leans her head on my shoulder.  
  
“Abby, do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been properly drunk?” she asks, slurring a little.  
  
“Since New Year’s? So… a month?”  
  
“That’s entirely too long!” She throws her arms up dramatically. “We should make parties like this a weekly thing.”  
  
“We’ll see if you’re still saying that in the morning,” Amelie reasons. Somehow, I think she’s the most sober out of all of us – probably good, since she’s also the only one who’s any good at Healing spells and there’s always a reasonable chance someone’s going to get themselves hurt at one of these parties.  
  
“I don’t think we’d make it out of NEWTs alive if we did that,” Molly adds.  
  
“Leave it to the Head Girl to ruin all the fun,” Dom pouts. I don’t point out to her that she’s a Prefect and therefore basically on the same level of fun-sucking as her cousin.  
  
A loud burst of laughter interrupts our conversation, and I look over to see James and Fred clutching their sides with laughter. Alec and Simon, who are sitting on either side of them, look completely startled by their outburst.  
  
“It’s just,” James finally manages, “have you ever really considered the bodily proportions of a Pygmy Puff?”   
  
The rest of us all exchange a glance as the two boys continue to laugh like this is the funniest thing in the world.  
  
“You two are actually mental,” Rose says.  
  
Scorpius is sitting next to her, and I have to wonder if he’s decided to act on my advice yet.  
  
“And very, very drunk,” Caroline adds, from her place on the floor next to the chair Dom and I are on.  
  
Once the two of them have calmed down a little, Fred forms his response. “I mean, all things considered, this is a pretty mild ending to a birthday bash for me.”  
  
“Yeah, what happened to going out with a bang, anyways?” Dom asks him, smirking.  
  
Fred shrugs, suddenly looking uncharacteristically serious. “Just wasn’t really feeling it tonight, that’s all."   
  
I’m almost positive no one else sees it, but I notice Fred’s eyes quickly glance at the black-haired girl leaning against my legs.  
  
Holy mother of Merlin, alert the presses. Freddy Weasley has developed actual feelings for a girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneak peek of chapter 30…
> 
> “Abby, as wonderful of a snog as I am, snogging me is not going to solve whatever problem you’re apparently trying to avoid.” Arrogant git. “You need to talk about it.” 
> 
> I sigh. “We can talk about it later,” I finally yield. “But not right now.”
> 
> I can sense that he wants to argue, so I start to unbutton his shirt and kiss the area where his neck meets his shoulders.
> 
> It’s enough to make him relent. “Fine.” 
> 
> I smirk, and continue my work of giving him a rather impressive hickey.


	30. Complication #30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talking about your issues is far better than bottling them up.

“Anyone else think Wright is trying to kill us with this bloody dementor essay?” Amelie says by way of greeting, dropping rather dramatically into a spot next to Simon at the Gryffindor table. “24 inches is absolutely ridiculous! And for a creature we don’t even use for security anymore!”

“It’s Sunday morning, Amelie,” Simon responds. “Relax, and let the rest of us enjoy our nice weekend breakfast without being reminded that our professors are mental.”

“I  _relaxed_  on Friday,” she shoots back. “And that landed me with a hangover so brutal I couldn’t get myself to work on any of these assignments until late last night.”

Yesterday was not a productive day for anyone, to say the least. Amelie was the most sober of all of us at James and Freddy’s party, so the fact that she was that hungover shows exactly what type of state the rest of us were in.

Note to self: if your friends ever decide to “finish off the alcohol stash” instead of having to bring it back to Gryffindor Tower,  _run the opposite direction_.

“I’ve got a shit ton to do as well, but I’d prefer to at least enjoy my potatoes first,” Dom retorts, reaching towards the food in question.

Her efforts are stopped, however, by a letter that manages to land in the middle of the potatoes. The owl delivering this particular letter is getting up in years, presumably, because its aim is rubbish.

Dom plucks the letter out of the dish. “Abby, it’s for you,” she says, handing me the letter, which is now soaked in oil and seasoning in one corner.

“Damn, you’re really popular with all the mail nowadays, aren’t you?” Alec comments.

There’s a moment of hope in which I think that the letter might be an incredibly fast response to my application to the Auror Office, but then I remember that it’s Sunday and therefore the office is closed. I also immediately recognize the distinctive handwriting.

It’s a letter from my mother.

I make the mistake of opening it in the middle of the Great Hall.

  

_Abigail dearest,_

_I’ve put up with a lot of your father’s shenanigans, but this “marriage” of his has to be the most ridiculous one yet. And then I hear that this fiancée of his has the gall to force you into being a bridesmaid? Insanity. I can’t believe she’d tie you up in all of this._

_Anyways, darling, I’d like you to know that you’re under no obligation to participate in that wedding. If you go, I’ll have no choice than to interpret it as you choosing him over me. You’ve already done that to me on Christmas, I can’t handle you doing it to me again._

_Love, Mum_

Instead of letting myself feel anything in response, I just shut down completely. As in, full brick wall constructed in my mind and a desperate desire to think about something,  _anything_ , else.

I’m fully aware that there’s some sort of conversation going on around me, but the specifics fade in the numbness taking over my mind. Wordlessly, I stand up and walk out of the Hall. At least one voice says my name, but that only makes me start walking faster.

As soon as I get out of the Hall, I start to run. I don’t know where I’m going, I just know I need to get my mind off of this – off of the fact that this letter is basically an ultimatum.

“Abby!”

I whirl around at the familiar voice.  _Of course_  James is the one who decided to actually follow me. Although, that really works to my advantage, because he’s also the easiest to distract. And I’m in need of a distraction myself.

He jogs the last few steps to catch up with me. “Care to explain why you just bolted in the middle of breakfast without any sort of explanation?”

I drag him into an alcove hidden behind a tapestry. Instead of answering him, I pull his face towards mine and start to kiss him.

He responds instinctively, his hands tangling themselves in my hair, and it takes him a good 10 seconds to realize I’m attempting to distract him and to pull away from me.

“Abby, as wonderful of a snog as I am, snogging me is not going to solve whatever problem you’re apparently trying to avoid.” Arrogant git. “You need to talk about it.”

I sigh. “We can talk about it later,” I finally yield. “But not right now.”

I can sense that he wants to argue, so I start to unbutton his shirt and kiss the area where his neck meets his shoulders.

It’s enough to make him relent. “Fine. I can’t believe you’re bloody  _seducing_ me to get out of talking.”

I smirk, and continue my work of giving him a rather impressive hickey.

 

* * *

 

“Mate, you look like a ponce with your shirt buttoned all the way up like that,” Fred laughs, noticing that James’ shirt is buttoned all the way to the top instead of having the top two buttons loose like they usually are.

I resist the urge to laugh. James does look unnecessarily formal, but I also know that it’s completely my fault. If we weren’t surrounded by people who couldn’t know what we get up to in our free time, he’d be glaring daggers at me right about now.

Instead, he ignores his cousin and focuses on his dinner.

“Unless, of course, you’re hiding marks from a secret lover,” Alec jokes.

He’s actually not entirely wrong.

Fred laughs. “I don’t think Abby would like that too much.”

I magically manage to not choke. “W-what do you mean?” I stammer after I’ve swallowed my food.

Have we already been found out? We’ve only been at this for two weeks.

“Only that I didn’t think you’d be too happy to lose your title of the only girl at Hogwarts who’s ever managed to hook up with the elusive James Potter.”

So our secret’s safe for at least a little bit longer. Although I really thought we were done making jokes about James and I’s hook-up at the start of the year. Leave it to Freddy to bring it back up. 

“McGonagall got onto me for ‘not following uniform protocol,’ ” James fabricates, self-consciously adjusting his fully buttoned shirt. “And you make it sound like I’m some sort of Chocolate Frog collectible card,”

Fred laughs. “The James Potter hook-up card: presented to the one and only Abby Winchester.”

If only he knew how true that actually is.

“Freddy, let poor Abby enjoy her dinner without you reminding her of her questionable life decisions from September,” Molly chimes in.

James’ eyebrows are knitted together, like he can’t quite decide if he’s just been insulted by Molly’s statement or not, and I giggle.

But I can’t help but wonder how on earth James’ weird philosophy fits in with whatever it is that we’re doing.

 

* * *

 

“I still can’t believe you gave me a bloody hickey in the most visible place possible,” James grumbles, broom under his arm.

“Hey now,” I defend myself, “I could’ve gone for higher up on your neck, and then you would’ve had to wear a scarf everywhere – doubt you could’ve played that one off as easily.”

“Fair enough.”

“Plus, I figure you’ll find a way to get me back for it eventually.”

“Yeah, I’ve figured out exactly how,” James says as we finally walk onto the Quidditch pitch. “Spill.”

That wasn’t the revenge I was expecting.

I feign ignorance. “About what?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, I can see right through that,” he retorts. “The letter you got this morning.”

I sigh. I knew it was only a matter of time before he brought it back up. “It was from my mother. She found out that I’m a bridesmaid in my father’s wedding and all but gave me an ultimatum to choose between her or him.”

I take off from the ground, but James is instantly right next to me on his own broom, sounding disbelieving. “Your mum told you to choose between your own parents?”

“Not in as many words, but the implication was there. Something along the lines of ‘I can’t handle you choosing him over me again.’ ”

“That’s messed up.”

Thanks for stating the obvious, James. “Now you see why I didn’t want to talk about it.”

I fly away from him, but he manages to catch up with me and grab the back of my broom, effectively preventing me from moving anywhere without him.

“I won’t hesitate to jump on the back of your broom if you keep trying to fly away from me,” he warns, smirking a little. “But seriously, what are you going to do?”

“What can I do?” I ask, a bit helplessly.

He looks at me seriously. “You call her bluff.”

When I give him a look that clearly shows I don’t know what he means, he continues. “I highly doubt she’s actually going to stop talking to her only daughter just because she goes to her ex-husband’s wedding. That’s ridiculous. So you go to the wedding anyways.”

“And if she’s not bluffing?”

“Then you’ve still got a dad and a stepmum who care about you. And your mum misses out.”

He explains it like it’s the simplest thing in the world. And, I guess, when you take all of the emotions out of the picture, it is simple. It’s like James and his career situation last week – sometimes you just need someone outside of the scenario to throw in their thoughts to bring logic back to the table.

Maybe there’s value in having other people to tell your problems to after all.

“That’s not a terrible plan,” I admit.

“My plans are never terrible.”

I roll my eyes, a smile finding its way onto my face. “James, you just suggested trying to jump onto my broom – which is only designed to hold one person anyways – while we’re both fifty feet in the air.  _That_  is a terrible plan.”

James waves me off. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Those things can hold like 25 stone – which is definitely more than one person – and still fly properly.”

We fly around for a few more minutes, until I finally get up the courage to ask James a question that’s been burning in the back of my mind since dinner.

“James?” I fly up next to him.

“Yeah?”

“Why have you always been so opposed to hooking up with or dating girls at Hogwarts, anyways?”

He sighs. “It’s… complicated. First off, there’s the whole fact that the bloody  _Prophet_ and  _Witch Weekly_ both seem to be obsessed with anything and everything that happens related to my family. Apparently the love lives of the Chosen One’s offspring are of interest to the entire Wizarding World. And anything as minor as a dirty look at my dad from my mum automatically warrants an article about how their marriage is supposedly falling apart.”

He’s not wrong – I can’t count how many articles I’ve seen over the years about the Potters. When  _Witch Weekly_ found out that Al was dating Cecile, they did a huge piece on it – and the two of them were only fourteen at the time. I can see how that might get to someone.

I’d never really thought about how hard that must make things for him; if he was anyone else, he wouldn’t have to be so careful about who he gets involved with. Your teenage years are supposed to be the time where you’re allowed to have reckless flings, not spend your time watching your back to make sure the gossip reporters at the  _Prophet_ don’t turn your misadventures into a front-page story.  

Granted, refusing to date or hook up with anyone at all seems like a slightly extreme reaction to that, but it makes sense in a way.

“I just don’t want to deal with that until it’s necessary – and I’ve got plenty of time to do the whole dating thing after I graduate, when I’m not constantly surrounded by classmates who would love nothing more than to send off a tip to the  _Prophet_.” 

He’s silent for a moment, and even though I can barely see him, I can tell he’s trying to figure out how to phrase his next comment. “And Hogwarts is pretty small, which means that it’s basically impossible to hook up with someone and not see them everywhere. And I always thought that would get weird.”

I avoid the obvious turn that this conversation could take. “And Freddy’s regular antics with Hogwarts girls weren’t enough proof for you that it doesn’t have to get weird?”

His silhouette shrugs. I don’t know what else to say that doesn’t approach the precarious topic of how our current dynamic fits into what he’s just told me.

“Freddy and I just have different approaches to that sort of thing, I guess,” he finally says. “And before you say anything, because I can tell what you’re thinking right now, I fully understand that I fucked up my own strategy with you.”

He’s approached the topic for me, and I can’t tell if what he’s just said is suggesting that his ‘fuck up’ is a good or a bad thing. “And has that made things weird?” 

“Better than weird,” he replies, grinning. And then he leans towards me.

“James Potter, if you’re even  _thinking_ about snogging me while we’re both still  _fifty_ feet up in the air, you’re even more mental than I thought.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneak peek of chapter 31…
> 
> The start of February brings about a fervent excitement among Hogwarts students about Valentine’s Day.
> 
> Fred wastes no time in securing his date for Hogsmeade. He drops onto the bench next to Caroline at lunch one day, throwing an arm around her shoulder.
> 
> “You. Me. Hogsmeade on Valentine’s. What do you say?” Way to go the blunt route, Fred.


	31. Complication #31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The people from your past never truly disappear.

The start of February brings about a fervent excitement among Hogwarts students about Valentine’s Day.

Fred wastes no time in securing his date for Hogsmeade. He drops onto the bench next to Caroline at lunch one day, throwing an arm around her shoulder.

“You. Me. Hogsmeade on Valentine’s. What do you say?” Way to go the blunt route, Fred.

Caroline’s cheeks tinge pink – something very out of the ordinary for a girl who generally refuses to get attached to any boy she dates. However, she manages to maintain her composure in her response. “I say you better make it the best damn Hogsmeade date of my whole life.”

“Oh, it will be,” Fred promises, before scooping an unholy amount of mashed potatoes onto his plate.

James looks completely gobsmacked at this whole exchange. Evidently he’s totally missed all of the blatantly obvious signs that his cousin fancies Caroline.

Once again, I’m reminded exactly how thick James is when it comes to romantic relationships.

It also doesn’t take much calculation to realize that – with Amelie accepting a date with one of the Hufflepuff Chasers – the only two people  _not_ going on a Valentine’s date to Hogsmeade are me and James.

Which means we’re probably going to end up spending the day snogging in some hidden location.

Saint Valentine must be so proud of us.

 

* * *

 

Despite how casually Freddy asked, it takes no time at all for the entire school to be buzzing about the fact that Fred Weasley is taking  _Caroline Sinclair_  to Hogsmeade for Valentine’s Day.

“I’ve gotten at least 5 dirty glares in the time it’s taken us to walk from the common room to the Great Hall,” she says as we walk into dinner.

“That’s what happens when you agree to a date with Hogwarts’ most notorious heartbreaker,” I reply with a laugh.

“It’s hard to remember that he’s got that whole reputation going on when he acts like a complete idiot 80% of the time.”

It’s funny that Caroline’s completely aware of Fred’s history with girls, and yet it somehow doesn’t perturb her in the slightest. Although, to be entirely fair, Caroline’s never really been the commitment type either. I have faith that she’ll be able to handle Freddy, one way or another.

The first part of dinner passes by rather uneventfully, although I do notice a few more stares than normal at Caroline and Fred, who are engaged in their usual banter.

When dessert appears, I notice two Ravenclaws get up from their table and start walking towards the Gryffindor one. And I feel my heart drop into my stomach.

I try to kick Caroline under the table, as at least some form of warning, but there’s too many legs and I instead make contact with James’ calf and Freddy’s shin, judging by their cries of protest.

“Caroline, I thought we were meant to be friends,” Scarlett says, having walked up behind her. “You knew how I felt about – “

She trails off, and I suddenly remember her infatuation with all things Fred Weasley. Of course, she won’t say his name given that he’s currently right next to her.

Caroline’s fork clatters onto her plate, but that’s the only sign that she’s thrown off by this exchange. When she turns around to look at Scarlett and Brooke, her face is a mask of cool indifference and her tone is dry and scathing.

“Last time I checked, friends also don’t sleep with their friends’ boyfriends, but you weren’t too concerned about any sort of friendship code then, were you?”

Between the two girls standing next to the table and the nine of us sitting, I swear you’d be able to hear a pin drop in the resulting silence. I feel James’ hand rest on top of my knee – an action invisible to anyone around us, but one that manages to keep me grounded despite the vitriolic sensation flooding my veins.

Scarlett’s face rearranges into a sneer – an expression I’m all too familiar with, although it was never aimed at me until this year. “That’s different.”

“You’re right,” Caroline snaps back instantly. “It  _is_ different. I agreed to go on a date with a bloke that you vaguely fancied at some point, and you fucked your best friend’s boyfriend and proceeded to turn everyone against her. Somehow, I don’t think  _I’m_  the one in the wrong here.”

Fred looks absolutely stunned, and I think he’s trying to piece together the fact that Caroline very publicly stated that Scarlett fancied him – or perhaps fancies him, present tense. I’m not sure if it’s still a thing or not.

“We can ruin you,” Scarlett hisses. “You should know that better than anyone, the power we have.”

And despite my best attempts at self-control, this is the statement that puts me over the edge. I give her a withering glare, oddly reminiscent of one that I would’ve once given James.

“Can you ruin her? Can you really? Because I’m pretty sure you tried to ruin me back in October. I don't really look ruined right now, don't you think?” I gesture to the eight people sitting around me for emphasis.

“Plus, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Finnegan, but your ‘power’ doesn’t exist anymore. All those people who used to worship the ground you four walked on don’t give a fuck about you anymore. Probably has something to do with the whole betraying-your-best-friend thing – that doesn’t really bode well for your reputation.”

I really think I might be dreaming when I realize that comment came from none other than Molly Weasley. Merlin, Hufflepuff loyalty must run deep, because I’ve never heard her talk to anyone that way before.

If we weren’t in the Great Hall, there’s a pretty reasonable chance this would turn into a duel – or worse, an all-out brawl. But as it is, there’s a number of professors at the front of the room and everyone somehow manages to keep their cool.

Scarlett apparently can’t figure out how to respond to the Head Girl, so she decides to storm away instead.

“This isn’t over,” Brooke says, glaring at Caroline before following Scarlett out of the hall.

There’s a moment of silence, as all of us sit there trying to digest what in the world just happened. My head is reeling, and I don’t quite know what to make of the fact that Caroline going on a date with Fred was the one thing that finally made Scarlett confront either of us for the first time all year.

“Can anyone explain what the fuck I just witnessed?” Simon breaks the silence.

“More importantly, can Molly here explain where the  _hell_ that outburst came from?”

“I’ve never been more proud to call you my cousin,” Dom beams, looking at the girl in question. “That was wonderful.”

Molly flushes. “I didn’t like the way they were speaking to you two.”

“Remind me to never get on your bad side,” Alec affirms.

I can see James watching me out of the corner of his eye, looking for some sign of how I’m processing what just happened. I give him a small nod, and he finally moves his hand from its place on my thigh.

“Spoken like a true Weasley,” Fred grins, reaching across the table to ruffle Molly’s hair affectionately, which gets him a smack on the arm and a knocked-over goblet of pumpkin juice.

 

* * *

 

I stop by the girl’s toilet on the way back from dinner, and while I’m in one of the stalls, I hear a number of girls walk in. I can’t fully identify who they are by their voices alone, but I’m pretty sure I recognize Madeleine Finch-Fletchley and Amy Dubois among them.

“Oh my Merlin, did you see what happened at dinner?”

“How could I not? I watched the final fall of the Royals from two tables away!”

“Personally, I thought they’ve been over since news broke that Scarlett had been sleeping with Abigail’s boyfriend,” one of them remarks.

“What was it all about, do you know?”

“Well, Madeleine said she heard it was about Caroline and Fred – apparently they’d all made a pact to never touch any of the Fits or something like that.”

“Well that pact would’ve been broken earlier this year anyways, wouldn’t it?” another snaps. “Abigail had sex with James back in September.”

I’m in a bathroom stall listening to a bunch of fifth years discuss my sex life. How  _delightful_.

“Speaking of which, Claudia said she’s seen the two of them flying on the Quidditch Pitch recently – and I’m pretty sure Abigail was as opposed to Quidditch as one can get before this year. I wonder if she’s doing it to try to get into his pants again?”

I resist the urge to snigger at that comment. If anything, I’m trying to make him  _keep it_  in his pants.

“Oh, I’m sure she is. I mean, look at him. Who wouldn’t?”

“Regardless of the reason, I still can’t get over the fact that their whole group just, you know, split in two. I always thought they were inseparable.”

“Yeah, honestly, Merlin knows why Scarlett decided to – ”

I don’t hear the end of the sentence; the girls have apparently left the bathroom, leaving me with the same curiosities that they’re no doubt continuing to entertain as they walk up to  Ravenclaw Tower.

Why  _did_ Scarlett do it, anyways? And why is Brooke still going along with her?

It’s that thought that consumes me as I walk up to my dormitory, where, luckily, the only person there is Caroline, sitting on her bed flipping through a Charms textbook.

I sit at the foot of her bed, in need of answers.

“Why did they do it?” I ask softly, and immediately hate the way the words sound coming out of my mouth. I sound petulant.

Caroline looks up at me, somehow knowing exactly who I’m talking about. “Who? And which part?”

“Blaise, Scarlett – I don’t know, all of it.”

Caroline’s silent for a few moments, closing her Charms book and setting it to the side. “I’ve thought about their motives a good bit,” she admits. “And I think I have it figured out.  I mean, obviously, I’m not sure, but I really think it was his own twisted version of a power move.”

“What do you mean?”

“Blaise was… well, he always struck me as the type of person to constantly want the upper hand in the relationship. I mean, he was always insistent that he didn’t want you working, and I think he sometimes felt like that position of power was threatened by you. So I think in his mind, it was a power move, being able to cheat on you and get away with it. You’d never know, but he’d constantly have that in the back of his mind, reassuring him that he had all the power in the relationship.”

I consider it for a moment. “That seems… about right. Although, I really can’t believe I never noticed him being that manipulative, at least in that way.”

Caroline brushes a piece of hair away from her face. “No one would’ve expected you to notice it. You were enamored by him, and that kind of affection tends to cloud out the flaws in a relationship. Hell, all of us thought you two were good together at the time.”

Caroline goes silent, and it’s obvious that she’s thinking hard about her next words.

“As for Scarlett, I’m trying to think of the best way to put this,” she finally manages, eyebrows knitted together in concentration. “Since first year, you’ve always had this – I don’t know, this aura about you. It just screamed power and popularity – you’ve always seemed so sure of yourself and like you’d just knock down anything that got in your way. And that’s got an almost-magnetic appeal to it. When I first met you, at 11, you were everything I wanted to be – so in control and confident, and my dad had just left and that kind of control was everything I wish I had in my life.”

“And I think Scarlett and Brooke were the same way. Just… magnetized to the way that you instantly showed up to Hogwarts and made it your castle. That’s not to say that that was the only reason any of us were friends with you, but it was a big part of the appeal.”

I study Caroline. She’s expecting me to be mad at her for saying this, I think, because she won’t really look me in the eye.

“And over the years, I think Scarlett started to resent you – no matter what anyone else did, you’d always be the leader. The Queen of the Royals. She wanted that title, so she went after the one thing you’d always had that none of us did: a steady boyfriend. And Blaise clearly thought more with his dick than with his head.”

“So she started sleeping with Blaise out of jealousy?” I confirm, pulling my knees into my chest.

“I mean, as best I can tell, yes. Granted, I had no idea she was sleeping with him and therefore all of this is just guessing, but it would make the most sense. We all loved the power associated with being a Royal, and I wonder if she just wanted that extra piece.”

“At least  _now_  I know no one’s friends with me for the popularity factor,” I mumble, and it comes out more bitter than intended.

“See, I knew there was no way I could say that without it coming across the wrong way,” Caroline replies. “But Abby, I promise – look at me, dammit – I promise that it wasn’t just about the popularity thing. You’ve always been incredibly witty and unwaveringly loyal to your friends and – ”

The rest of her sentence is cut off as the door to the dormitory swings open and Dom walks in, brushing something off her face. Upon closer inspection, I realize she’s wiping away tears.

She sits on the bed between me and Caroline. “Alec and I broke up.”

“What?” Caroline’s reaction echoes my sentiments.

Sure, Alec and Dom weren’t exactly all over each other all the time anymore, but I’d just figured that was a result of them getting out of the ‘honeymoon phase’ of their relationship, not teetering on the verge of a break-up.

“It was a mutual decision, so I really have no reason to be crying like this,” Dom says. “There just wasn’t a spark there anymore, you know?”

I panic a little bit, watching my best friend cry like this. I can barely manage my own emotions, much less those of other people.

Eventually, I settle for giving her a hug. “You’re the best damn thing that ever happened to that boy, Dom Weasley, and he doesn't know what he’s missing out on.”

She laughs a little. “Still, I really wish I had a drink right about now.”

Caroline smirks, leaning to reach underneath her bed. When she re-emerges, she’s holding a bottle of elderflower wine. “You mean like this?”

“Caroline Sinclair, you are an absolute gem of a human.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneak peek of chapter 32…
> 
> “So, since Al and Cecile are going to be doing whatever it is that they do on their excessively long Valentine’s Day dates, do you wanna come with me to Hogsmeade this weekend?” The blonde boy looks anxious, and the last few words of his sentence come out jumbled together.
> 
> Rose doesn’t seem to catch on to it. “We always go to Hogsmeade together, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
> 
> Scorpius’ hand flies to the back of his neck – a nervous habit, I suppose. “No, I meant, er, as a date.”


	32. Complication #32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The same form of teasing can elicit very different reactions, depending on its source.

“I heard the most interesting rumour the other day,” I comment offhandedly, ignoring the involuntary shiver as James’ cold hands slide underneath my school shirt.

“Oh, really?” he smirks, looking down at me. “And what was it?”

I weave my arms around his neck. “I’m apparently only taking flying lessons from you as an attempt to get into your pants again.”

“I can’t believe you’d use my own passion for Quidditch against me like that,” he mutters, pulling me flush against him.

We’re walking a fine line – this banter interspersed with increasingly close physical contact. It’s almost as if we’re testing how close we can get to the edge before we fall off completely.

“What can I say, I know your weak spots.” As evidence of that, I slide my hands up the back of his neck and into his hair, dragging my nails lightly on his scalp.

He lets out a breathless laugh. “That you do.”

We stand there for a moment, neither of us moving or saying anything else. This is it – we’ve hit the breaking point.

And we’re off the edge, and he’s snogging me and we’re under the Cloak in the middle of a corridor in broad daylight and I can’t be bothered to think about the fact that this is probably the stupidest thing we’ve done.

My hands migrate downwards, feeling the taut muscle of his shoulders and chest through his shirt. His hands move in a similar direction, shifting from my waist to my hips, and finally settling on my arse.

Our foolishness is rewarded by footsteps echoing down the adjacent corridor. I quickly pull myself off of James – although I don’t get far, given how tightly he’s holding my bum.

“Someone’s coming.”

“And we’re invisible,” he replies, going in for another kiss as his hands slide back up to my hips.

“Doesn’t mean they can’t walk straight into us considering we’re right in the middle of the corridor,” I hiss, and the footsteps get closer.

He clearly recognizes that I have a point. One of James’ hands leaves my hip and grabs onto my wrist instead, pulling me with him until my back is up against the wall and he’s in front of me, sandwiching me between the wall and his warm body, with his forearm propped up on the stone beside my head.

My breath hitches in my throat, but attraction is replaced by curiosity as I recognize the two figures coming down the corridor.

“So, since Al and Cecile are going to be doing whatever it is that they do on their excessively long Valentine’s Day dates, do you wanna come with me to Hogsmeade this weekend?” The blonde boy looks anxious, and the last few words of his sentence come out jumbled together.

Rose doesn’t seem to catch on to it. “We always go to Hogsmeade together, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Scorpius’ hand flies to the back of his neck – a nervous habit, I suppose. “No, I meant, er, as a date.”

“Okay.”

“Really? I mean, er, that’s fantastiful. Fantastic. Wonderful. I was thinking both of them and they came out smashed together because apparently I couldn’t choose just one.”

“Scorp,  _breathe_.” Rose laughs, and it echoes down the corridor as they round the corner.

I strain my ears to hear more, but they’re gone.

“Well, that was unexpected,” James breathes as soon as he’s positive they’re out of earshot. “Scorpius fancies Rose, who would’ve guessed it?”

I roll my eyes. “Literally anyone with basic observational skills.”

“You knew?” he asks, head cocked to the side in an expression of oddly adorable confusion.

“Yes I knew, even before Scorpius asked me for advice a few weeks ago.” James looks a surprised by that. “But really, it’s quite obvious, the way he looks at her. Although you also missed all the signs that your best mate fancies Caroline, so I can’t really be too surprised.”

“How was I supposed to know  _that_?” he retorts, slightly defensive.

“You didn’t notice that he didn’t snog a single girl on the night of your shared birthday party? Even if you missed all the other signs, that one was so obvious.” I laugh. “Merlin, James, you really are thick when it comes to romantic relationships.”

He frowns at me.

“I’m going to be late for Quidditch practice,” he mumbles. “Don’t lose the Cloak, alright?”

He ducks out from underneath the silky fabric, and I watch as he walks down the corridor. I can’t help but to feel like somehow, in the midst of our banter, I said something that offended him.

Which makes no sense, really. Dom said basically the same thing to him a few weeks ago, and he laughed it off. Why so different now?

 

* * *

 

James’ strop doesn’t last long – less than 12 hours later, he finds me in the library to tell me that he’s making it his job to keep Alec entertained on the day of the Valentine’s Hogsmeade trip.

Which is how I’ve gotten myself into this present situation: attempting to convince Dom to come with me to Hogsmeade for a “girls’ day.”

I would attempt to physically drag her, but she’s a Beater that’s being scouted for professional Quidditch and I’m lucky to carry more than 5 books at a time without my arms giving out.

“Come on, Dom,” I plead. “It’ll be fun.”

“I don’t want to watch a bunch of sickeningly sweet couples cuddle in the Three Broomsticks all afternoon,” she protests.

“It’s not going to be  _all_ couples,” I reason. “Plus, you really need a new quill or two. Yours are starting to shed everywhere.”

“I can always owl order those.”

I pull out the trump card. “You don’t even want to eavesdrop on Fred and Caroline?”

The latter had left our dormitory a few minutes ago, wearing a black skirt and red jumper combination that made her look even more dangerously pretty than normal. Poor Freddy won’t even know what hit him.

“Ugh, fine,” she finally relents, grabbing onto a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. “But only because I want to see my cousin make a right fool of himself trying to impress her.”

“Atta girl,” I smile at her.

I’m grateful that Dom’s so low-maintenance, because it takes her all of five minutes to get ready to go down to the village.

As we walk down towards Hogsmeade, I realize that Dom was right about one thing: the sheer number of overly-affectionate fourth and fifth year couples is enough to make anyone vomit.

Predictably, we spot Fred and Caroline at the Three Broomsticks. They’re both holding butterbeers and Fred has apparently just said something funny, because Caroline throws her head back laughing.

We find ourselves in a booth across the pub – close enough that we can see the two of them interact without hearing the actual conversation. I doubt Caroline would be too pleased if she caught us actually eavesdropping on their date.

“So, Abby,” Dom says, as she arrives back at our table holding two butterbeers, “we both know my love life has gone to shit lately, but what about yours?”

“Mine went to shit in October,” I reply, using her own words back at her.

“Right, and that was, what, four months ago? You haven’t found anyone else to fancy in the meantime?”

I’ve started snogging one of your cousins in empty corridors? Does that count?

“Nope,” I lie, taking a sip of my butterbeer.

“Well then, let’s find you someone!” Dom looks gleeful. “You’re not the only one who can play matchmaker, you know?”

I don’t respond. She seems so excited about the prospect and I don’t want to ruin her happiness, but I’m not really looking to find someone new to fancy at the moment.

“So, who in our year could catch your eye? There’s that Ethan bloke who asked you out back in January, but I take it you’re not super into him.”

“Not really.”

“Hm, who else are we working with?” she thinks aloud. “Any other Slytherin seventh years?”

“None of them are my type, I don’t think.”

“And what is your type, exactly?” Dom asks.

I consider it for a moment. “I don’t know? Tall, I guess, and decently built but like, not too built, you know? And I’ve always thought I’d look weird with a blonde, so not that. And obviously decently smart and able to hold a good conversation, you know the deal.”

Dom considers this as I take another sip of my butterbeer.

“So what about James? He seems to check all those boxes of yours.”

I’m glad I have the large mug in front of my face, so that Dom can’t see the shocked expression that momentarily takes over my features. By the time I set my butterbeer back down, however, I’ve managed to compose myself.

“Ha, Dom, real funny.”

She laughs. “I know, I just had to suggest it.” 

“Aaaaand Fred just kissed Caroline.”

Honestly, bless them for providing me with a way out of this conversation.

“ _What?_ ” Dom cranes her head to see our two friends.

“It was just a little peck on the cheek, it’s over now.”

“Freddy’s in so deep if he’s being  _genuinely affectionate_ instead of going straight for a snog.”

She muses on that for a little bit. “You know, out of the two of them – Freddy and James – I’d always expected James to be the one that got over his commitment phobia first. He’s got his whole I-don’t-date-Hogwarts-girls thing going on, but I’ve always thought that was going to fall apart one day when he met the right girl. Fred, on the other hand, I’ve always pictured going along with his casual heartbreaker ways for at least three years after Hogwarts.”

She, almost imperceptibly, glances at me when she says James’ name. I almost wonder if she somehow expected me to be that ‘right girl.’

If anything, I’m making his commitment issues worse by doing this whole snogging-with-no-feelings-attached thing. Whoops.

“I mean, technically, this is only one date with Caroline,” I point out. “So he’s still got plenty of time to keep it a casual thing.”

“I don’t know about that. You’ve seen it too – the way he acts around her, the way he’s acting around her right now. I’ve never seen him click with a girl like that before.”

I nod. The two of them did – almost unnaturally – click immediately.

“It makes me think of something Cecile said, earlier this year,” she adds. “She said that she was pretty sure that when Freddy fell for a girl, he’d fall hard. And I think  _this_ is him falling hard.”

I’d almost forgotten about that conversation, during the after party of my first ever Quidditch match. When Cecile had said that, we’d all laughed. Looking back, she may have been completely correct.

I wonder if Caroline feels the same.

And Merlin, I wish I could talk to Dom about this whole thing with James – it would be nice to have another person to help me interpret some of the more cryptic things that have happened lately. Like why he got so upset when I suggested he’s terrible at romantic stuff.

Although I have the feeling she’d suggest that means he fancies me, and I’m pretty sure that’s not the case. James is almost painfully easy to read, so if he had a thing for me I’d definitely be able to tell by now.

Unless, of course, he fancies me without realizing it himself. And that’s just a whole other can of flobberworms.

Regardless, it’d be nice to have someone to talk to about it.

“Warning, incoming,” Dom says, glaring at the door.

I look up to see my ex-boyfriend – looking annoyingly good, even though I know without a doubt that I wouldn’t touch him with a 10-foot pole ever again – walking into the Three Broomsticks, arm-in-arm with a pretty dark-haired Slytherin sixth year. He whispers something in her ear, and she giggles and kisses him on the cheek.

That was me this time last year.

“So is now a good time to go replenish your quill stash?” I ask abruptly. I suddenly want to be absolutely anywhere but here.

I’m a Ravenclaw, not a Gryffindor. I’m allowed to run away from my problems.

“Absolutely,” Dom replies, throwing a sickle on the table as a tip.

As we walk out the door, I hear a voice ring out behind us. “Don’t think we didn’t notice you spying on us!”

I look back to see Caroline grinning conspiratorially, and Fred smirking at us.

Dom and I collapse into a fit of giggles as soon as we make it out the front door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneak peek of chapter 33…
> 
> “I regret befriending Ravenclaw’s Quidditch captain,” Caroline grumbles, wrapping her arms around herself the moment we step foot outside of the castle.
> 
> “You don’t regret befriending Dom, you just regret going to a school that plays an outdoor sport in the dead of winter,” I reply after casting a Heating Charm on my cloak.
> 
> “True,” Caroline replies, with a short laugh.


	33. Complication #33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quidditch is a very serious matter.

As if Dom and Alec’s break-up didn’t create enough of an awkward tension, the fact that Gryffindor and Ravenclaw play each other this weekend adds a whole extra level to all of that.

It’s easiest to just sit at separate tables for the duration of the week – it’s better than listening to Dom and James trash-talk each other over every meal and having to witness the stony silence between Dom and Alec.

I don’t see James a lot outside of mealtimes either. He’s taking the match incredibly seriously, which means he’s scheduled practice almost every night. Which Dom isn’t too happy about, because it takes time away from  _her_ team’s practice.

Basically, I’ll be really happy when this match is over and done with.

With Dom constantly doing Quidditch things, it’s just Caroline and I sitting in the common room studying on Monday night. Apparently it’s a rough week for everyone, because the Ravenclaw common room is quieter than usual.

“So, I never asked,” I start, looking up from my essay, “but how’d your date with Fred go? You two looked happy when Dom and I were there.”

“It went… well.”

I scoff. “That’s seriously all you’re going to give me?”

She grins conspiratorially. “Yep."

“Caroline!” I mimic outrage.

“Okay, fine,” she relents. “Well, it was an absolute mess at the beginning – Fred was, I don’t know,  _nervous_ or something? Which wasn’t like him at all.”

I would pay Galleons to see Fred Weasley nervous around a girl.

“So eventually I just kissed him. Like, literally just smack in the middle of the path to Hogsmeade. And apparently that’s all he needed to fix whatever was short-circuiting in his brain, because it was back to normal after that.”

She pauses, and amends her previous sentence. “Well, normal plus some PDA and snogging. And it was… good. Really good, honestly.”

“The snogging or the date?”

Caroline laughs. “Both. Definitely both.”

“So what are you going to do now?”

She looks a little surprised at that, almost like it’s the first time she’s thought about it. She purses her cherry-red lips, considering it.

“I don’t know. He’s still Fred after all, and he’s got a little bit of a reputation preceding him. I’m not about to chase after him like a lovesick puppy if he’s only interested in a one-time thing.”

I doubt that Fred’s only interested in a one-time thing with her, but I don’t say anything. It’s not my place to make that sort of assumption anyways.

“So you’re just going to do nothing?” I ask, trying not to come off accusatory. “I thought you fancied him.”

She sighs. “When you put it like that, I sound like an emotionless bitch.”

“That’s not what I – ”

“I know you didn’t mean it like that,” she interrupts, the corner of her mouth turned upwards. “I just don’t want to get hurt by chasing after someone whose history makes it clear that he’s not the relationship type. I’ve had too many people run off on me before.”

She’s got a point. I guess we’ll just have to see how badly Fred really wants her.

 

* * *

 

The day of the Gryffindor/Ravenclaw match is absolutely miserable. The only good thing is that there’s no rain, but it’s overcast and windy and bone-chillingly cold. If I wasn’t such close friends with both teams’ captains, I would definitely be spending the day inside in front of a fire in the common room.

But instead, I’m putting two pairs of socks on, swapping out my usual Ravenclaw-coloured headband for a pair of blue fuzzy earmuffs, and tying my blue-and-bronze scarf around my neck so tightly that I can barely move my head.

“I regret befriending Ravenclaw’s Quidditch captain,” Caroline grumbles, wrapping her arms around herself the moment we step foot outside of the castle.

“You don’t regret befriending Dom, you just regret going to a school that plays an outdoor sport in the dead of winter,” I reply after casting a Heating Charm on my cloak.

“True,” Caroline replies, with a short laugh.

Molly and Amelie are waiting at the bottom of the Ravenclaw stands. Amelie clearly cast a Colour-Changing Charm on her Hufflepuff scarf for the game, but it’s already starting to fade a little and the royal blue is starting to lean towards turquoise.

Once we get into the stands, it is – thank Merlin – a little bit warmer due to all of the shared body heat. I can’t imagine playing in this cold – my hands would go numb in an instant.

Davies finds Molly as soon as we sit down, slipping into the seat next to her and wrapping an arm around her waist.

“Welcome to Quidditch’s own battle of wit versus bravery – or as some may call it, Ravenclaw versus Gryffindor! As always, I’m Cassie and you’ll get to listen to my lovely voice for the duration of today’s match.”

She continues. “Today is also the second time that these two captains, cousins James Potter and Dominque Weasley, have faced each other. As some of you may recall, Ravenclaw trounced Gryffindor last year, so the Ravenclaw team is clearly hoping for a repeat, while Gryffindor is looking for revenge!”

At her cues, the players from each team fly out in a flurry of blue and red. Dom’s platinum blonde ponytail is easy to spot, and she blows a kiss in the direction of the Ravenclaw stands when someone cheers her name.

And while Dom is all sassy energy, James has the same level-headed demeanor he always adopts the moment he gets on a broom. They shake hands, and the match begins.

The Snitch is released, then the Bludgers, and finally, the Quaffle.

I’ve gotten much better at watching Quidditch since my first game. There’s still an alarming amount of motion happening, but it’s easier to track the players as they move across the pitch. I still don’t know what most of the trick plays are meant to accomplish, but I’m not too concerned about that aspect – I’m not exactly planning on becoming a Quidditch strategist anytime soon, anyways.

“And that shot is blocked by Potter, who passes it to Weasley – ooh, and that’s a bludger sent from none other than his own cousin,” Cassie narrates.

Dom’s looking pleased with her shot, which served to deter Fred’s course and allow one of the Ravenclaw Chasers to grab the Quaffle from him.

“And Crosby sends a bludger at Weasley – Dominique, that is. Wonder how Louis feels about his boyfriend taking aim at his sister.”

“Cassie’s getting sassy,” I comment.

“Oh, this is nothing, really,” Amelie replies, never taking her eyes from the game. “You should’ve seen the commentator last year – he was making all sorts of ridiculous jokes, not to mention he was overtly biased towards Slytherin. Good thing he graduated, I like Cassie better. I think she’s just now getting a bit more confident in her role, which is where that last comment came from.”

“Ah.”

As a Ravenclaw Chaser – moving too fast for me to properly recognize him – approaches the goal hoops, I watch as James gets in position, ready to predict the Chaser’s next moves.

I swear that the next few moments happen in slow motion. The Chaser throws the Quaffle towards the left hoop, and simultaneously I hear the recognizable smack of a Beater’s bat. The bludger comes flying just behind the trajectory of the Quaffle, a move designed to deter James from blocking the shot.

I notice this, but apparently James doesn’t. And if he’d only reached out his hand to block the shot, there’s a decent chance he could’ve avoided the bludger anyways. But instead he chooses to move his whole body and block the Quaffle by kicking it. As a result, it’s only a matter of milliseconds after he makes contact with the Quaffle that the bludger makes contact with him.

There’s an audible crack as the bludger collides with the side of his leg, the part completely unprotected by any sort of padding.

Holy mother of Merlin, that sounded painful. I’m also pretty sure his leg is at a slightly unnatural angle at this point.

“And it seems Potter has taken a direct hit from a bludger sent his way by none other than his own cousin! That’s going to make for an interesting family dinner.”

I look away from James to see Dom just a bit away from him, her hands clasped over her mouth like she can’t believe what’s just happened.

James, for his part, is still on his broom, looking like he’s gripping it so tightly his knuckles are white underneath the gloves he’s got on. He stays like that for a few moments, while the rest of the game almost pauses of its own accord. Eventually, he makes an abstract waving motion with his hand.

“And it appears that Potter has no intentions of leaving the game, determined captain that he is,” Cassie comments mildly. “Oh, and his Chasers have already recovered the Quaffle! Jones, to Weasley, to Wright, back to Jones, and she scores! We’re now 110-80, Gryffindor.”

On my part, there’s no way I’m capable of switching gears back into watching the game so easily. I don’t know if I’ve taken an actual breath in the last few minutes.

I watch as James yells something at his younger brother – something along the lines of  _catch the fucking snitch, dammit_ , if my lip-reading abilities are to be trusted.

“Abby, I’m going to lose circulation in my arm if you don’t let go soon.” Caroline’s voice pulls me back to reality.

I look over at her, and realize that I have in fact clamped down on her arm with an uncharacteristic strength. “Sorry,” I mutter, letting her go.

“If you’re this stressed about Quidditch players getting injuries, I’d hate to see you around when one of them falls off their broom,” Amelie adds, noticing my nerves.

“That happens?”

“Oh, yeah,” she replies. “Fred took a particularly nasty tumble in fifth year. And James in third year.”

I shudder at the thought of someone free-falling from that far in the air.

For James’ part, he does a pretty decent job of staying in the game, despite whatever pain he’s currently experiencing. He’s a touch slower than normal – which means that Ravenclaw eventually takes the lead, points-wise. The people in the stands around me are going wild; I join in, albeit a bit half-heartedly because I know that part of the cause of our sudden lead is James’ injury.

“And it appears that Potter has spotted the Snitch, and Robinson isn’t far behind – oh wait, is that a feint? Yes, that’s a feint! Potter is now shooting across to the other side of the field,  completely opposite of where he was flying before… and he’s got it! He’s caught the Snitch! Gryffindor wins, 340-210!”

The Gryffindor stands go wild, while the Ravenclaw stands fill with the bitter murmurs of a team who was ahead just moments ago and had that victory ripped away by the 150-point Snitch.

I, however, can only seem to focus on James, who’s descending at a much slower rate than the rest of the players. It looks like he attempts a one-legged landing, but instead ends up falling to all fours.

It takes approximately 3 seconds for Fred, Simon, and Dom to all surround him – the first two to literally pick him up while he throws his arms around their shoulders, and the third to give him a hug and to start, knowing Dom, apologizing profusely.

McGonagall and Hooch rush over as well, but they clearly decide that James is in decent enough care between the two boys and Dom, and so lets the four of them start walking up to the Hospital Wing – or hopping up, in James’ case.

Amelie nudges me. “Come on, let’s go meet up with them at the Hospital Wing.”

“Okay,” I concede, finally pulling my eyes off of the scene playing out on the pitch.

When we finally make it up to the Hospital Wing – and Madame Abbott finally deems James fit for visitors – there’s a flood of people instantly surrounding his bed. The entire Gryffindor Quidditch team, for one, plus the majority of his cousins. And me, Amelie, and Caroline.

It’s quite a crowd.

James, for his part, is absolutely loving the attention. “I mean, I couldn’t just abandon the game,” he says, giving a dramatic retelling of the events at hand. “I couldn’t just  _let_ my darling cousin win by playing dirty.”

“It was an accident!” Dom retorts.

James laughs. “I know it was, Dom, don’t worry. You’ve already apologized like 50 times too many.”

After a few minutes, most of the Quidditch team clears out, along with some of James’ cousins and siblings. Eventually, it’s just the seventh years remaining.

“James, you really should’ve seen Abby’s reaction,” Amelie comments, grinning. “She’s never seen a proper Quidditch injury before, and I really think she stopped breathing for a minute there.”

“Well then you should’ve seen me fall off my broom in third year.”

“ _That’s what I said_!”

I don’t know why everyone’s so completely relaxed about the fact that the bones in James’ leg were literally shattered less than an hour ago. Even though we’ve got magic around to heal things quickly, this still seems like it should be a big deal.

“You lot really don’t need to wait up for me,” James finally says, a slightly more serious note to his tone this time. “Hannah’s keeping me here for another hour or so while the pain-relieving potion’s still in my system – go join the party or something.”

Everyone starts to filter out, but I don’t move.

“I’ll be back in a little bit,” I tell Dom, who gives me a questioning look.

After the doors have closed, I turn back to James. I sit at the foot of his bed, careful to avoid his newly-healed leg.

“Took your breath away, did I?” James teases.

“Not in the good way,” I snap in response, my tone sharper than intended.

“I can do that later.” And then, “Wait, shit, Abby, you’re not actually mad, are you? Because  I can’t exactly control the fact that Quidditch is a bit of an aggressive sport.”

I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself down. “No, I’m not. But seriously, James, be a tad more careful and try not to do that again, alright?”

James chuckles. “I can’t make any promises – we’ve still got one more match left, after all – but I’ll do my best.”

It’s probably the most I can expect to get out of him.

“Well, at least there was one good thing that came out of this,” I add.

“And that was?”

“Dom and Alec were in the same room, talking to each other, for the first time since they broke up.”

For two people who had claimed that they were still going to be friends after the break-up, they sure haven’t been doing a good job of it until today.

“Hm,” James replies, considering this. “If all it takes to solve people’s problems is me getting injured, maybe I’ll have to break a leg more often.”

I glare at him, but there’s really no malice behind it. “Don’t you dare.”

 

* * *

 

After about an hour of sitting at the foot of James’ bed and keeping him company, Madame Abbott finally comes out of her office and tells James that he’s free to go.

“You’re coming to the party at Gryffindor, right?” James confirms.

“I wasn’t planning on it, but I can,” I answer. “Although I should probably put on something less… Ravenclaw.”

I’m still wearing the clothes I wore to the match, give or take a few layers.

James’ eyes skim over what I’m wearing, and I swear the room gets a few degrees warmer. “Yeah, you probably should.”

“If you walk me up to Ravenclaw Tower,” I propose, “we can take a nice five minute detour on the way to Gryffindor.”

James lights up at that.

When I get back to my dormitory, I switch into a black lace dress and knee-high black boots. Black seems a neutral enough choice for a Ravenclaw that’s entering enemy territory right after a Quidditch match.

I intentionally ignore eye contact with Brooke and Scarlett, who are both sitting on Scarlett’s bed flipping through an issue of  _Witch Weekly_.

James is waiting for me in an alcove halfway between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor. The moment I step behind the tapestry, he has his hands on my hips and his lips on mine.

“I’m pretty sure you didn’t even get a good look at me before doing that,” I joke when we finally pull apart for air. “You would’ve just snogged any old person who happened to peek behind the tapestry.”

“I was impatient. You took too bloody long to get ready.”

And here I was thinking that I’d done really good at getting ready quickly this time around. Although, I suppose, I’m a bit more high-maintenance than most.

“I’m making up for it right now,” I reply, dragging my thumb along his jawline.

James responds by kissing down my neck, hitting all the most sensitive spots and making me feel like my skin is on fire, like I’m already drunk on Firewhiskey despite being stone-cold sober.

It’s probably that sensation that makes me blurt out the strangest possible statement for the situation.

“Go to my dad’s wedding with me?”

James pulls back, looking at me quizzically.

My mind’s a little fuzzy, like it’s still catching up with the words that just came out of my mouth. “It’s just that,” I try to explain, “I’m pretty sure I’m going to be the only person there that’s our age, and Diana told me I could bring a date, and I figure you’re better than a random bloke. I can promise you’ll get a good snog out of it.”

James lets out a bark of laughter – likely at how I just turned a snogging session into long-winded rambling in a matter of seconds.

“Sure, I’ll go with you.”

I release a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. “Oh. Thank Merlin.”

“Also, you may want to fix your hair before we head over to Gryffindor Tower.”

I reach up for the topknot I’d just finished styling, only to discover that a number of large chunks of hair have fallen loose, and the whole bun is sitting slightly crooked on the top of my head.

“Really, James? Why’d you have to ruin a perfectly good hairstyle?” I complain, giving up on the  bun completely and letting my hair fall down in loose waves again.

James chuckles. “I mean, really, you messed up my hair first, so…”

I lightly shove him in response. “Please, you can’t ‘mess up’ hair that already looks like it’s got a small family of birds living in it.”

“I resent that. My hair does not look like a bird’s nest.”

“Whatever you say, dear,” I reply teasingly, ruffling his hair again for good measure.

I walk out of the alcove, swinging my hips just a little bit more than usual because I know James is watching from behind.

The moment James steps into the Gryffindor common room, the whole place lights up. Amid the chaos and congratulatory greetings, I’m able to sneak over to the makeshift bar area relatively unnoticed.

Once I’ve got a butterbeer in my hands, Fred comes up beside me.

“You’re betraying your own House by being here, you know,” he says by way of greeting.

I shrug. “James guilted me into coming.”

Fred rocks back and forth on his heels. “Well, now that you’re here, I have a question for you.”

“Okay, hit me.”

“What do I do about Caroline? I just – fuck, I like her a lot, more than I’ve ever fancied any other girl. But… she just seems kind of distant, you know? So I don’t know what to do next.”

I almost want to laugh. Merlin, the boy’s in deep.

“Caroline’s not the type to just blindly jump into anything,” I explain. “She’s been burned before, and your reputation doesn’t exactly scream ‘loyal boyfriend.’ So you’re going to have to find a way to show her that she can really trust you and that you really want her.”

Fred nods, but looks like he’s still trying to piece all of that together in his mind. “So, how do I go about doing something like that?”

“I don’t know, you could – ”

I’m interrupted by a loud and easily identifiable voice. Sure enough, I look across the Common Room to see James standing on a table, while a definitive chanting of ‘ _SPEECH!_ ’ surrounds him.

James basks in the attention, as he usually does. “That was a bloody good match, and it’s all thanks to the best damn Quidditch team that Hogwarts has ever assembled!”

The room erupts into cheers. James waits for it to die down before continuing.

“And I just want to thank all of you for being such great supporters, we really couldn’t do it without you lot cheering us on. And, of course, my friends, who literally stuck around my bedside in the Hospital Wing even though this party was going on up here until I finally forced them to leave, because that’s just the kind of people they are. I really couldn’t do it without you lot.”

It’s a blanket statement, but his eyes linger on me for a few seconds.

I feel uninvited butterflies erupt in my stomach.

James grins, and I swear his elation in this moment could light up an entire room. “Now, let’s keep this thing going and get proper Gryffindor drunk!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneak peek of chapter 34…
> 
> I trail off when I see James’ shocked expression – he probably thinks I’m mental at this point.
> 
> “That was… amazing – you’re amazing.”
> 
> And if I don’t almost swoon right then and there.
> 
> I recover by pasting a cocky grin on my face. “I know I am.”


	34. Complication #34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it’s hard to find the ‘right kind of happy.’

“Fuck Patronuses.”

I look across the table at James, who has been muttering incoherently for about five minutes now. He’s flipping between two pages in his Defence textbook, although I’m pretty sure he’s not actually reading any of it.

“Happy memory, my ass … bloody useless knowledge … supposed to be  _advanced_ magic, not N.E.W.T. level …”

I put my hand on top of his, halting the restless flipping of pages. “James, I don’t think angrily cursing at your Defence textbook is going to accomplish anything.”

“It makes me feel better,” he grumbles, pulling his hand away. “You’ve probably already cast a corporeal Patronus, haven’t you?”

He’s right – I have. I resist the urge to smile, thinking back to the lynx cat I’d conjured a few nights ago while sitting in the dorm. The shimmery feline had terrified Lila half to death, and my poor kitten had spent the next few hours hiding under my bed.

“Alright, let’s go,” I tell him, stuffing my now-finished Transfiguration essay in my bag.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’d much rather be snogging you right now than trying to wrap my brain around casting a Patronus Charm, but I kind of need to pass my Defence N.E.W.T.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m not suggesting we go snog. You need to work on actually casting a Patronus, and since I’m pretty sure that’s frowned upon in the middle of the library, we’re going to find somewhere to practice.”

“Don’t you have an essay to write?”

“Just finished it,” I reply. “C’mon, you grouch, let’s go cast a Patronus.”

He grumbles something about not being a grouch in response to that, and his tone of voice really just further proves my point.

We stake claim on an abandoned classroom just a few corridors down from the library. Even though we’re actually only doing schoolwork, I lock the door just in case. The Hogwarts rumour mill would take any instance of seeing two people in an abandoned classroom together as proof of a secret relationship – and I’m not taking my chances.

The fact that people think our flying sessions are me attempting to get with him are enough to deal with as it is.

I go to the front of the classroom and sit on the teacher’s desk. “Alright, happy memories. What are we working with?”

“Well, when we worked on them in class I was thinking about the last time Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup – in fourth year. And that’s basically the happiest I’ve been in my entire life, so something’s got to be off with my technique or something.”

“No, you’re going with the wrong type of happy memory,” I tell him.

“Wright said, word for word, to think of the happiest memory you can think of,” James argues. “That’s exactly what that is – I know you’re not super into Quidditch, but you know how much it means to me.”

“I’m not suggesting that’s not the happiest you’ve ever been – just that you need to focus on a different kind of happy memory,” I explain, trying to keep my voice level instead of giving in to his inclination to make this an argument. “You’re thinking about when you were most excited, most elated, which is grand and all, but the kind of happy memory that works best for a Patronus is the type of subtle happiness that hits you in an unexpected moment and makes you feel like right there, right then, is the most perfect thing you’ll ever experience in your life. The type that fills you with inexplicable peace and optimism.”

“Are you sure you’re not gunning for a Defence professor position?”

“Quite positive,” I scoff. “Me and a bunch of hormonal 11-year-olds would  _not_ mix well.”

James switches back to the subject at hand. “So what’s  _your_ happy memory?”

“It’s a few memories, really.” I feel weirdly nervous about divulging this information. “It’s the first time my dad took me to Paris and we got these amazing fresh croissants and got hopelessly lost, and this one time Dom and I were studying in the common room and she started doing impressions of all the professors and I thought my sides were going to split from laughing so hard, and a day where we were flying and I remember just looking out over the Black Lake and the castle grounds and feeling that the future – the possibilities are just endless, you know, and I was just so  _free_ and  – yeah.”

I trail off when I see James’ shocked expression – he probably thinks I’m mental at this point.

“That was… amazing – you’re amazing.”

And if I don’t almost swoon right then and there.

I recover by pasting a cocky grin on my face. “I know I am.”

“No, really. That was like, weirdly poetic.”

“I’m sure you’ve got memories like that of your own,” I reason, hoping to settle the butterflies that have randomly taken up residence in my stomach. “So come on, let’s practice.”

James says the incantation, and a thin layer of silvery vapour emerges from the tip of his wand.

He looks somewhat surprised. “That’s more than I managed last time.”

“So keep trying. It took me so many tries to get to a corporeal one.”

I realize after the fact that my statement isn’t exactly encouraging.

“Well then it’s going to take me  _years_.”

Despite his complaining, he does in fact try again. And a number of times after that, continuing to make tiny amounts of progress with each successive Patronus.

After about half an hour, we’re getting close to curfew and I’m pretty sure James doesn’t have the Cloak on him. I’ve cast my Patronus a few times since we’ve been in here, watching the feline move with a sort of enviable grace.

“James, we ought to get going.”

“Okay, just let me try one more time.” For all that he complains about Defence, I think he secretly likes the subject – it just doesn’t come naturally to him, the way other things do.

I walk over to him, watching the way he’s holding onto his wand.

I reach for his wand arm, my hand wrapping over his. I step into him, my back against his chest as I guide his arm downwards.

“Try relaxing your grip just a little bit,” I advise.

And James tries one more time. This time, the resulting Patronus is much more than vapour. It’s not quite corporeal yet, but it’s close – I can see the vague outline of a four-legged creature start to form in front of us.

“Well, at least I know it’s not a bird or something like that,” James comments, and the closeness of his voice makes me realize that our current position is oddly intimate.

“Too afraid it’d be an eagle?” I tease. “You’d have embrace your inner Ravenclaw at that point.”

I step away from James and walk across the room to grab my school bag.

“I’ll have you know the Sorting Hat didn’t even consider putting me in Ravenclaw.”

 “Yeah, because you’d have to be witty for that.”

“Oi!” he protests. “I’ll have you know I’m plenty witty.”

“Then how come you couldn’t come up with an actual comeback?” Merlin, teasing him is fun.

He shrugs, grabbing his bag as well. “I’m saving the best of them for later.”

“Sure you are.” I head towards the door, undoing the charm on it and pulling it open.

“Just you wait and see,” he replies, meeting me at the doorway.

“Goodnight, James.”

He leans over, kissing me on the temple. “Goodnight, Abby.”

And then he’s walking away.

Well,  _that_ was different.

 

* * *

 

In hindsight, I really should’ve known to expect something crazy out of Fred the moment he ran up to me after Charms and said, “I’ve got it, Abby!” before running off.

Before we were interrupted at the Quidditch after-party, I was going to suggest he write Caroline a letter or something. Knowing Fred though, that’s nowhere close to whatever idea he’s come up with.

At dinner, Fred randomly turns to Caroline and asks what her middle name is.

“It’s Marie,” she answers simply, not thinking much of it and going back to slicing her piece of roast chicken.

I give James a questioning look – if anyone’s going to know what harebrained scheme Freddy has come up with, it’ll be James. But he just shrugs in response.

Dom and Alec are being… civil. Which is a massive improvement, given that they weren’t talking at all a week ago. I’m not going to pry into Dom’s love life – Merlin knows I don’t want anyone prying into mine – but I can’t help but wonder if there’s something more going on there than either of them admits.

I settle into the relative normalcy of dinner, which means I’m completely caught off guard when the dessert tray in front of me starts  _humming_.

As in, humming a full-on melody. It’s a catchy tune, and I’d probably be trying to figure out where exactly I know the song from if it weren’t for the fact that the music is coming from the  _dessert_.

And Fred is clambering onto the table, suddenly wearing a bow tie of all things.

Merlin, this boy is dramatic.

“Caroline Marie Sinclair,” Fred announces, turning to the girl in question, “you are, without a doubt, the most beautiful, most wonderful girl I have ever met. And I know I have a bit of a history, but none of those girls will ever come close to what I feel for you.”

There are a few gasps from various tables across the Great Hall – likely from some of those girls that Freddy’s had a history with.

Caroline glares at him for creating this much of a scene, but the glare is half-hearted at best. “You are absolutely ridiculous,” she tells him, standing up from her spot on the bench.

Fred beams. “And you love it.”

“Fred Weasley, get off of that table or I will give you detention!” Headmaster Sprout demands from the front of the Hall.

“Not until my sweet Caroline agrees to be my girlfriend,” Fred yells back.

Ah, that’s where I recognized the tune from.

“Fred Weasley, get off of that damn table and kiss me.”

“So that’s a yes?”

Caroline smiles. “Obviously.”

And Fred practically jumps off the table, landing right in front of her, putting his hands on each side of her face and  _very passionately_ kissing her in the middle of the Great Hall.

It’s not until he grabs her hand and they go running out of the Great Hall that the desserts finally stop singing.

I really wish people were more surprised by the ruckus that just occurred. It would mean, at the very least, that dramatic instances of singing food were considered at least  _relatively_ abnormal.

But alas, this is Hogwarts, and inanimate objects start singing at least once a week.

“Now, there’s one thing you’ll never catch me doing,” James comments, reaching for the treacle tart that was humming just moments ago. “I don’t need to make a huge public gesture to get a girl.”

“Right,” I reply, rolling my eyes. “Because you get so many girls as it is.”

“Well I got you.”

I want nothing more than to reach across the table and smack him upside the head because  _way to blow our cover, idiot._

But while I’m internally panicking and trying to figure out how to backtrack what he just said, Amelie chimes in. “Yeah, and she was piss-drunk at the time.”

Never have I thought I’d be grateful for a start-of-term party reference.

James looks like he wants to argue her point, but he’s apparently come to his senses about not saying anything stupid in front of all these people.

Alec eventually breaks the silence. “So, probability that we’re locked out of our room for the evening?”

“110%,” Simon answers solemnly.

 

* * *

 

On my way down to breakfast the next morning, I hear James before I see him.

“Abby! I did it!”

And before I even have a chance to ask him what on earth he’s talking about, he sweeps me into a hug, literally picking me up off my feet and spinning me around.

When he finally puts me back down, my hair has successfully been completely messed up and I give him a displeased look for that. I hear Dom snort next to me, clearly entertained by my disgruntled expression.

“What did you do?” I ask, running my fingers through my hair in an attempt to get it to settle back down.

“I cast a corporeal Patronus,” he grins. “It was a total accident – I was just bored in the common room for everyone else to be ready and decided to try it and it just… happened.”

My annoyance with him dissipates and I find myself mirroring his smile. “I knew you could do it – just took practice, is all.”

We fall into step – him, Dom, and I – as we continue down to breakfast.

“You were also right about one other thing,” he adds, smirking.

“And that was?”

“I’m too much of a Gryffindor for my own good.”

Of course his Patronus form would be a lion. I’m not even a little surprised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The exact wording on my outline for this chapter was “ha I want Fred on a table at some point.” Well, I got what I wished for.
> 
>  
> 
> Sneak peek of chapter 35…
> 
> THE WIZARDING WORLD’S MOST ELIGIBLE BACHELORS
> 
> Number 1, James Potter: Yes, ladies, the eldest son of Harry Potter is officially of age. And he’s fit as hell. A Keeper both on and off the Quidditch pitch, if you know what I mean.
> 
> “Conceited much?” I ask, stifling a laugh.
> 
> James sees what I’m looking at, and has the sense to look embarrassed by it. “Fred found it in Roxy’s Witch Weekly and put a Permanent Sticking Charm on it. I’ve been trying to get it down since September.”


	35. Complication #35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the ground falls out from underneath you, what you reach for shows where your priorities lie.

I shed James’ Invisibility Cloak, wondering how this is somehow my first visit to the seventh year Gryffindor boys’ dormitory. Really, you’d think we would’ve realized snogging on a real bed was preferable to desks ages ago.

James grins next to me. “Welcome to the Lion’s Den.”

The room looks almost exactly the way I’d expect it to, and it’s almost comical how easy it is to pick out which bed belongs to whom.

The farthest left bed is an absolute mess, and there’s all sorts of odd Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes products everywhere – that one obviously belongs to Fred.

The next one is James’ – if nothing else, the fact that he has the Huxley jersey I gave him for his birthday hung on the wall next to his bed is a dead giveaway. The rest of the wall around his bed is cluttered with various photos.

Next to that is Alec’s bed. There’s a photo frame on the nightstand that’s face down; I can only imagine that it’s a picture of him and Dom. Which makes me wonder why he hasn’t gotten rid of it yet, if they’re supposedly broken up now.

Then comes Simon’s bed, which is a perfect contrast to Fred’s. It’s neatly made and all his belongings are in his trunk. The only evidence that it’s Simon’s bed comes from the Beater’s bat sitting on top of his trunk.

The other two beds presumably belong to the other two seventh year Gryffindor boys – I have no clue who either of them are, actually.

I walk up to James’ wall of photos. He’s got a huge variety of them – from family gatherings to pictures of him and his friends to Quidditch matches. My eyes stop on a magazine clipping.

 

_THE WIZARDING WORLD’S MOST ELIGIBLE BACHELORS_

_Number 1, James Potter: Yes, ladies, the eldest son of Harry Potter is officially of age. And he’s fit as hell. A Keeper both on and off the Quidditch pitch, if you know what I mean._

“Conceited much?” I ask, stifling a laugh.

James sees what I’m looking at, and has the sense to look embarrassed by it. “Fred found it in Roxy’s  _Witch Weekly_ and put a Permanent Sticking Charm on it. I’ve been trying to get it down since September.”

“Fine then,” I concede. “Since you didn’t put it up yourself, I’ll refrain from taking the mickey out of you for having it hung on your wall.”

“Can we get back to the real reason I brought you up here, instead of you judging me for the things I have hung on my wall?”

“And you’re sure none of your roommates are planning on coming up here anytime soon?” I confirm. We’ve made it this far, and I’m not trying to get caught anytime soon.

“Well I just locked the door, so even if they do come up here, we’ve at least got a few minutes to figure out an escape plan.”

“Good enough for me.” I sit on James’ bed and lean back on my elbows. “Come on now,  _Witch Weekly_ ’s Most Eligible Bachelor.”

“I hate you,” he mutters, but the fact that he’s on top of me and kissing me only a few seconds later suggests differently.

As the kiss deepens, he wraps an arm around my waist and rolls onto his back, pulling me on top of him. I shudder as his teeth graze my bottom lip. I keep waiting for this to get old – for kissing him to no longer feel like the first time, but it hasn’t yet. I’m starting to doubt it ever will.

I hear a distinct tapping noise, and immediately jump away from James. I’m in the middle of planning the best hiding spot – under his bed is bound to be  _disgusting_ , but it’ll have to do – when I realize that the sound isn’t coming from the door, but rather the window.

James lets out an exasperated sigh, before going to the window and opening it. A rather large snowy owl drops a letter into his hands before flying away.

He sits back on the bed next to me and pulls the letter out of its envelope. As his eyes scan the letter’s contents, a number of unidentifiable emotions cross his face. It’s almost as if I can feel the aura of the room shift as a frown forms on his lips.

When he finally says something, his voice cracks. “It’s – my dad. He got hit by a curse out in the field, and they don’t know – he might not make it. He’s at Mungo’s now. Mum wants us to come home immediately.”

And then I watch as the strongest person I know crumples in front of me.

Even though I’m pretty rubbish at dealing with other people’s emotions, my reaction is instinctive. I move closer to him, pulling him into me. His hands find my shirt, gripping it like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. No noise escapes his mouth, but his shoulders shake slightly as I gently stroke his back, run my hands through his hair, anything I can think of to provide him any sort of comfort.

After a few minutes like this, James starts to speak again. He doesn’t move from his position against my chest, so his voice is slightly muffled. “We fought before I got on the Hogwarts Express. I don’t remember how I ended the conversation, but it wasn’t nice. And now it could be the last thing I ever say to him.”

I want to be able to say something to him that’ll make him feel better, but I’m not sure there’s anything I can say in this situation. I don’t want to promise him that it’ll all be okay, because I don’t really know if it will be. So we sit in silence.

Finally, he pulls away from me. His eyes are bloodshot, and he looks completely broken. I thought I’d seen every emotion this boy was capable of – I’ve seen rage, I’ve seen arrogance, I’ve seen moodiness, I’ve seen it all – but this is a totally new one.

It somehow takes away my ability to breathe.

“Come with me,” he says.

“What?” There’s a number of things he could mean by that, and I’m not sure which one it is.

“Come home with me. I can’t do this alone.”

I start at him for a moment. This doesn’t quite seem like the right moment to take a friend-with-benefits home to your parents. “Are you sure? Don’t you want, I don’t know, one of your cousins? Like Fred, or Dom, or – “

“No. I need you. Please.”

He looks at me, and the pain clearly evident in his eyes leaves me with no option but to agree to his request. Seeing him like this breaks my heart.

“Okay.”

And so I follow him from Gryffindor Tower to Professor Longbottom’s office. Neither of us make an effort to say anything to the other the entire way there – to make small talk while walking at this point would feel odd.

Professor Longbottom, upon seeing us walk in, instantly gives James a hug and offers condolences. Al, Cecile, and Lily have already left, apparently. James returns the embrace half-heartedly, and I can tell that he’s trying not to fall apart again.

When Professor Longbottom lets go of James, he notices me standing behind James and gives me a puzzled look. I don’t know what to say to him, or how to explain my presence.

“She’s coming with me, Neville,” James says, and his tone makes it clear that there isn’t anything Professor Longbottom can say to change his mind.

Professor Longbottom nods and doesn’t question it, before walking to his fireplace and holding out the bucket of Floo Powder for each of us to grab from.

James goes first, shouting for ‘Potter Manor’ before going up in a burst of green flames. I follow shortly after, and almost land on James as I stumble out of the fireplace.

I look around the room – the same room we’d celebrated the New Year in just a few months ago. The room’s slightly different now; there are frames hung back up on the walls and a few decorative items sitting on the coffee table. I suppose they’d hidden any breakable items when they decided to give a bunch of teenagers free reign of their living room for the night.

There’s a  _pop_ in the other room, and Mrs. Potter comes around the corner.

“Oh good, James, you’re here,” she says, slightly out of breath. “I just took Al and Cecile and Lily over to Mungo’s, so they’re all there now.”

James nods, and I realize that Mrs. Potter can’t see me from my place behind James. Otherwise, I’m sure she would’ve commented on the unknown girl that had just Floo’d into her fireplace with her son.

James realizes this too, because he takes a step to the side. “Mum, this is Abby.”

I notice that he doesn’t give me any sort of descriptor. Although to be honest, I really wouldn’t know what to call James in relation to me either. ‘Friend’ doesn’t quite seem to cover it anymore, but we’re also not technically anything more than that either.

“Hi, Mrs. Potter.”

A look of recognition passes through Mrs. Potter’s eyes. I can’t help but wonder what he’s said to his mum about me. “Please, call me Ginny. It’s lovely to meet you, dear,” she finally says, before looking back at James. “Come on, let’s get to Mungo’s. Take Abby on Side-Along since she won’t be able to get out of the house without it.”

With another  _pop_ , she’s gone. James grabs my hand, and I almost immediately feel the familiar sensation of being squeezed through an incredibly small tube.

When I open my eyes again, we’re in the busy reception area of Mungo’s. We follow Ginny onto the lift and up to the fourth floor. When we reach a room at the end of the hall and Ginny opens the door, the sight that greets me is hard to comprehend. Al, Cecile, and Lily are all in chairs, sitting around a hospital bed.

Lying on that bed is the same person pictured in countless History of Magic textbooks and Chocolate Frog cards – but now, he looks like a totally normal person. He looks like he could be asleep, if you didn’t know he’d been cursed.

James’ hand finds mine. I should be concerned about what this looks like to his siblings and Cecile, but I can’t find it in me to care about that right now – not when I know just how much James needs this.

I give his hand a reassuring squeeze; I can’t make anything better, but I can be here for him.

 

* * *

 

We stay at the hospital until visiting hours end. The Healer on duty reassures Ginny that he’ll notify her if anything changes overnight. Everyone’s on edge, because we all overheard that same Healer say something to a Medi-Witch about the first 24 hours being the most critical – that if he doesn’t wake up in that time period, the probability that ever will drops dramatically.

When we all get back to the Potter house, everyone’s oddly quiet – something completely unheard of for any of the Potter/Weasley clan, who are some of the loudest people I’ve ever met.

“James, get Abby settled in the guest bedroom closest to yours,” Ginny says, as she heads to her own bedroom. Lily follows her, apparently choosing to spend the night in her mum’s bed instead of her own.

I follow James upstairs, and he shows me to the room next to his. It’s all red and gold – the bedding, the curtains, the area rug – all of it.

“This is what you get when you let a whole family of Gryffindors decorate a house, apparently,” James comments, and I can sense that he’s trying to lighten up the moment. The amusement, however, doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Oh, wait, I’ll be right back.”

He disappears into his own bedroom, and comes out a few minutes later holding what appears to be one of his T-shirts.

“Figured you wouldn’t be too keen on sleeping in that,” he says, gesturing to the dress I’m wearing.

I take it from him, and I notice that it’s a Gryffindor Quidditch jersey, likely from a previous year. “Thank you.”

“Goodnight, Abby.” And with that, he’s walking back to his room.

“Goodnight, James.”

I change into his shirt – which still faintly smells like him – and climb into the Potter’s guest bed.

I should be knackered after the day I’ve had today – it feels like it’s lasted ages, and it’s hard to believe that just a few hours ago I was teasing James about a  _Witch Weekly_ article. It’s like the whole world has shifted in a matter of hours.

But instead of being exhausted, I’m wide awake. My mind is reeling, and I just can’t get comfortable in this unfamiliar bed.

So I eventually find myself getting up out of the bed, and walking out into the hallway. I think about going to James’ room, but he’s had an even more eventful day than I have and I don’t want to disturb him if he’s already asleep. Instead, I find myself walking downstairs – I’ll get a glass of water or something, and hopefully that will calm me down some.

The stairs go straight into the living room, which is fully bathed in pale light from the full moon. I’m oddly drawn to the collection of picture frames on the fireplace mantle – the ones that weren’t there when I was here a few months ago.

It’s easy to find James in some of these pictures. There’s one of him as a toddler, flying around on a toy broom with complete reckless abandonment, looking completely content as a figure that I assume to be Harry Potter chases after him, trying to make sure James doesn’t fall off. I can’t help but smile – he hasn’t changed a bit, really.

“Can’t sleep either?”

I jump at the voice, and turn around to see James standing at the bottom of the stairs.

“No,” I admit. “So I came down for a glass of water, and got distracted by – ” I trail off.

“I was a cute kid, yeah?” James tries to lighten up the moment again. “I’m going to make a cup of tea, if you’d like one.”

“Yeah, that’d be nice.”

And so a few minutes later, we’re both cradling mugs of hot tea, and James sits down on the couch. He inclines his head toward the space next to him, signaling for me to sit there.

I sit next to him, and he wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his chest. The weight of his arm around me is oddly reassuring.

“I just don’t know what to do,” James finally says, and I can tell that his mind is reeling. “I just – I wish I hadn’t been such a shitty son for all these years.”

“Arguing with your dad doesn’t make you a shitty son, James,” I try to reason with him. “It just makes you a completely normal teenager.”

“I just – I’ve always been worse to him than Al or Lily. I’ve always resented him for the fact that nothing I can ever do will live up to him saving the world, and I – I don’t know why it took me until today to realize it, but he didn’t have any control over what he was born into either.”

I consider that for a moment. “It’s not too late to apologise to him.” 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, he’s still here. He’s unconscious, but that doesn’t mean that he can’t hear you – there’s all sorts of Muggle books on that sort of stuff. People still being able to hear in comas and all that.”

James is silent for a moment. “Yeah, maybe.”

And we sit like that, with my head against his chest, even after we’ve both finished our tea and James has sent the mugs flying back into the kitchen.

It’s strange, that something so innocent as sitting like this feels like the most intimate thing we’ve done. I’m not sure what to make of that.

It makes me realize that I just might be in love with him.

It’s nothing catastrophic or groundbreaking; the world doesn’t shift under my feet with this newfound realization. Rather, it’s like when you suddenly feel your heartbeat against your skin – it was still beating when you weren’t paying attention to it, it’s just suddenly become more obvious. I think I’ve been falling in love with him without even noticing it happen.

And then he has a hand on my cheek, tilting my face towards his as he leans down to kiss me.

It’s nothing like our normal snogging – heated and passionate and impatient. This is softer, slower, more tender, and his lips taste vaguely like chamomile. And holy hell, barring all of the trauma that got us to this point, I really wouldn’t mind staying like this forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this was an absolute roller coaster of a chapter.
> 
>  
> 
> Sneak peek of chapter 36…
> 
> It takes me a few moments longer to come to terms with my sudden realization from last night. And naturally, the first thing I want to do is go yell at James: I told you so. I knew from the start that there was no way a situation like this could end smoothly; someone always has to develop feelings.
> 
> But, of course, that would require telling James why I’m right, and I don’t think I have the courage to walk up to him and offhandedly tell him that I may or may not be in love with him.
> 
> Not to mention that this point in time – when his dad’s in the hospital – is probably the worst possible time to have that conversation anyways.


	36. Complication #36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Letting your guard down puts your secrets at risk.

It takes me a few moments to remember where I am the next morning – that I’m sleeping in the Potter’s guest room, that James is down the hall, and that his dad’s currently laying in a bed at Mungo’s.

It takes me a few moments longer to come to terms with my sudden realization from last night. And naturally, the first thing I want to do is go yell at James:  _I told you so_. I knew from the start that there was no way a situation like this could end smoothly; someone always has to develop feelings.

But, of course, that would require telling James  _why_ I’m right, and I don’t think I have the courage to walk up to him and offhandedly tell him that I may or may not be in love with him.

Not to mention that this point in time – when his dad’s in the hospital – is probably the worst possible time to have that conversation anyways.

So I resign to slipping on a pair of leggings that James nicked from Lily’s room – they’re a bit small on me, but they’re stretchy, so it works – and heading down to the kitchen.

When I get there, I’m surprised to find that it’s just Cecile at the kitchen table. She’s holding a cup of tea between her palms, and she studies me as I walk into the room.

“I know this is a loaded question first thing in the morning,” she begins after a moment of silence, “but are you and James together now? I only ask because you’re here with him, and I just – I don’t know if I’ve missed some sort of development there.”

I take the seat across from her. “No, we’re definitely not together. I just happened to be with him when he found out, and he didn’t want to come alone, so I agreed to come with.”

I don’t mention his insistence that it had to be me – that it technically wasn’t  _just_ a matter of convenience – largely because I’m still not even sure what that’s supposed to mean.

“Do you want something for breakfast?” I ask, desperate to change the subject. “I’m sure I can find food somewhere in the kitchen.”

“No thanks,” she replies. “My stomach’s in knots – I think it’s all just stress from seeing Al and his family so torn up like this.”

I nod, because I understand the feeling. If I could wave my wand and take all the pain out of James’ eyes right now, I’d do it in a heartbeat.

Cecile finishes her tea and heads back upstairs to wake Al, leaving me alone in the kitchen nursing a cup of black tea.

It all feels so strange, to be sitting here in the Potter’s kitchen. I haven’t really had a chance to reflect on just how  _weird_ this whole situation is just yet. It’s like going home to meet the parents – except one of them is in the hospital and James and I aren’t even dating in the first place.

“You’ve got to stop hanging out in my house alone.”

I look up to see James, looking mildly amused. He’s still wearing his pyjamas, and it has the unexpected side effect of sending me straight back to our interaction last night.

Curse my heart for beating just a little bit faster when I meet his eyes.

“Good morning to you too.”

“Do you want breakfast?” he asks, making his way into the kitchen. “I can make eggs, but that’s about it.”

“Sure.”

I watch as he fetches the carton and a pan, and starts cooking. Even though it’s just eggs, it’s kind of funny to see him doing something so  _domestic_.

I have an odd desire to walk up behind him while he’s cooking, wrapping my arms around his waist and leaning my head against his shoulder. Without even doing it, I can picture exactly how my body fits up against his.

_Merlin_. I’ve got to snap out of this.

 

* * *

 

Only a few minutes after James finishes cooking, the rest of the Potter household comes to life. Visiting hours start at 9:00, and apparently Ginny is insistent that the family gets back to Mungo’s as early as they can.

I imagine she’s a bit on edge about the fact that the 24 hour window the Healers mentioned yesterday is reaching its close.

I borrow a jacket from Ginny – I’ve become a patchwork of various Potter’s clothing at this point – and we all Apparate into St. Mungo’s, the same way we did before. I realize today that we’re the only people I’ve ever seen Apparate in and out of Mungo’s, and I wonder if that has something to do with the Potter’s celebrity status.

Harry looks the same as yesterday. Ginny greets him with a kiss on his forehead, and when she pulls back, her eyes are glassy.

After a bit, Lily, Al, and Cecile excuse themselves – Lily and Al both woke up too late to eat breakfast, so they set off to find something in the Mungo’s café.

As soon as they leave, James drops my hand, and looks up at Ginny.

“Mum? Can I have some time to talk to Dad, alone?”

Ginny nods, squeezing her husband’s hand one more time before leaving the room. I follow her.

Which then leaves me in the odd predicament of hanging out in a hospital hallway alone with Ginny Potter.

Who, in addition to being the mum of the boy I’m snogging and maybe-definitely in love with, was also a famous Quidditch player and helped save the world when she was my age.

I play with the ends of my hair, the curls slightly tangled around themselves.

“Am I correct in assuming you and James only became, er,  _friends_  this year?” I look up to see Ginny studying me.

I can’t pretend she doesn’t intimidate me, at least a little bit. “Erm, yes.”

“You’re a good influence on him.”

I only blink in response. Her comment has thrown me completely off guard, and I don’t know how one is supposed to respond to something like that, anyways.

She elaborates. “I’ve gotten far fewer letters from Sprout this year, and he’s been much less of a moody git lately – although I suppose he gets that from his father. Harry was like that as a teenager too.”

I’m in a slight state of shock, mainly because I can’t believe Ginny just called her husband and her son ‘moody gits.’ Especially given that her husband, you know, saved the entire wizarding world at 17.

“And I don’t think he’d be in there talking to Harry on his own without you,” she adds.

How does she…?

Ginny notes the apparent surprise on my face. “I went into the kitchen for a cup of tea last night, and it just so happens that you can see a decent portion of the living room from there.”

I can’t help but wonder how much else of that interaction she witnessed. I’m sure my eyes vaguely resemble saucers at this point.

She smirks at me, and I realize where James gets his signature expression from. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”

I open my mouth to reply – although I don’t even know what I can say to that – but before I can form a coherent response, I’m cut off.

“ _Mum_! He’s waking up!”

Ginny’s Quidditch reflexes are blatantly obvious in that moment, because before I’ve even had a chance to register the words James just yelled, Ginny has already called for the Healers and run into the hospital room in a blur of flying red hair.

She and James are quickly forced out of the room, however, by the barrage of Healers insisting that they need to run some tests and give Mr. Potter a few potions before they’ll let anyone come into the room. James leans against the wall next to me – it doesn’t escape me that there’s a certain tightness that’s been released from his shoulders for the first time since yesterday.

James’ hand finds mine yet again, his calloused fingers quickly interlacing themselves with mine. I find it interesting, that he’s never so much as attempted to hold my hand before this weekend, and now he seems to be doing it instinctively.

I can’t lie to myself that I don’t like it, that I don’t like the feeling of his hand in mine. There’s just something there that makes me want to never let go.

Al, Cecile, and Lily come back from the café a few minutes later, confused as to why all three of us are suddenly outside of the hospital room instead of in it. When Ginny explains that the Healers are in there running tests on their newly-conscious father, I think Lily might start crying tears of relief.

“Dad’s going to be okay?” she asks.

“I think so, baby,” Ginny replies, engulfing her youngest in a hug.

I’m suddenly struck by a sort of envy for this family, how their love for each other is so blatantly spelled out, how even their greatest struggles serve only to draw them closer. I can’t help but wish I could somehow be a part of it.

An uninvited voice in the back of my head reminds me that, theoretically, I could become a part of it if James and I were ever to become something more than… whatever we currently are.

I push the thought away as quickly as it came.

The hoard of Healers comes out of Mr. Potter’s room. One of them stops and addresses us.

“You’re all welcome to see him now. He’s taken a few pain-relieving potions, but he’s awake. He should be able make a full recovery in a few days, but we’ll need to monitor him until then.”

“Oh thank Merlin,” Ginny announces to no one in particular, before running into the hospital room.

I follow James into the room, still holding onto his hand.

“How are you feeling, dear?” Ginny asks, having already taken the seat closest to her husband’s head.

“This would be the point where I’m supposed to come up with a pun about being cursed, isn’t it?” Mr. Potter is looking at his wife, a wry grin on his face.

“Leave that sort of comedy to George,” she replies, and they both smile like they’re sharing some sort of secret joke.

The conversation continues amicably, until Mr. Potter looks over and notices me.

He sends a pointed look at his eldest. “James? Care to introduce me?”

“Oh, right,” James stammers. “Dad, this is Abby Winchester.”

“She’s James’  _friend_ ,” Ginny supplies, and I look up to see her watching me with a mischievous sparkle in her eye.

Of all the people to have found out about James and I snogging, it just had to be his  _mum_. Merlin.

Mr. Potter’s eyes briefly drop to James and I’s intertwined hands – it makes me want to pull mine away, if only James weren’t holding it so tightly – before looking back up at me. “Right. Well, nice to meet you, Abby. Call me Harry.”

I wonder if James knows what he’s doing right now – making it look like we’re basically dating to his  _parents_  of all people – given the extreme measures of caution we usually go to at school to avoid any sort of assumption like that.

Is this what he wants now? I can’t tell.

And after a few moments, Harry speaks again. “Your name sounds awfully familiar… where do I remember it from?”

It takes him another few moments of concentration to answer his own question. “Oh! I think I saw a job application of yours cross my desk at some point.”

James turns to me. “You applied for to be an Auror?”

“The investigative department,” I explain, suddenly feeling somewhat guilty for not having told him before now. “Flitwick suggested it at my career advising appointment.”

“That’s brilliant, Abby,” he grins at me, and dammit, my heart rate picks up a little in response.

 

* * *

 

 

We stay there for another hour or so, before Ginny realizes she needs to send all of us back to Hogwarts.

We stumble through Professor Longbottom’s fireplace one by one, although the Professor himself is nowhere to be found.

It’s not until we’re back on Hogwarts grounds that I realize that I’m going to have to explain my absence to Dom and Caroline, who both no doubt noticed that I wasn’t in the dormitory at any point yesterday or today.

And there’s no way I’m lying to either of them – I mean, last time I lied to Caroline, it led to a three-month fallout. I don’t fancy going through that again.

But the truth is… sticky. Dom already keeps joking about setting up me with James, so this will no doubt add fuel to that fire. And even though I might in fact actually want something more serious to happen between James and me, I’d rather it happen because James wants it to rather than because his cousin put him up to it.

Luckily, they’re in neither the common room or the dormitory, which gives me the opportunity to switch out of all of my borrowed clothes and into something a bit more typical of me.

And, Merlin, I’m suddenly exhausted. The full weight of the weekend finally lands on my shoulders, and even though it’s the middle of the day and I have an excessive number of essays to write, I find myself laying on my bed.

A five minute nap wouldn’t be so bad, right?

 

* * *

 

Wrong.

When I come to, it’s dark outside the window and I hear people walking into the room. I’ve only just sat up and smoothed out my dress when Dom and Caroline walk in.

“I was just –  _Abby_! You’re alive!”

Dom all but tackles me in a hug, and Caroline quickly follows.

“Why wouldn’t I be alive?” I ask, still sounding a bit groggy.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Dom replies cheerily. “It just seemed like the right thing to say at the time.”

“Well yes, I am in fact alive. Only half-awake though. What time is it?”

“It’s just past seven. You straight-up slept through dinner,” Caroline answers. “We were all wondering where the hell you were, because James was there and you weren’t.”

“Speaking of which, how exactly did you end up going home with him and Al and Lily?” Dom adds.

I give them the same answer I gave Cecile this morning. “We were studying together when he got the note. He didn’t want to go alone, so I tagged along. Bit awkward, really, when I met the Saviour of the Wizarding World for the first time in a hospital room.”

They both laugh, and I notice for the first time that Dom seems to be in an exceptionally good mood.

“But enough about my weekend adventures,” I say, “what happened here while I was gone?”

Dom’s cheeks tinge pink. “Alec and I got back together.”

“What? Where’d that come from?”

“We both realized we were fucking miserable with this whole ‘just being friends’ thing,” she replies. “I don’t think we’re going to stay together past graduation – we just don’t work like that – but it’s fun for now. And the spark is back – or at least, it definitely was last night.”

Caroline shoves her. “Way too much information, love.”

Dom smiles deviously at her in return. “Anyways,” she says, turning back to me, “we’re heading to the Gryffindor common room if you’d like to rejoin the land of the living.”

And that’s how I find myself squished onto one of the Gryffindor couches, listening to Fred talk about trying to run Quidditch practice without a Keeper or a Seeker. Not to mention that he’s not actually Captain, and therefore barely knows how to run a Quidditch practice anyways.

“Okay, there’s about a million better ways we can do this set-up,” James eventually mutters from beside me, before grabbing my legs and pulling them across his lap.

He’s not wrong; turning me sideways means that there’s at least a little bit more space on the couch. But it still feels like this isn’t something ‘friends’ are meant to be doing – I mean, we’re practically on top of each other, for Merlin’s sake.

“You have really fucking sharp hipbones, you know,” James tells me.

I have to bite back the flirtatious reply of, ‘and yet you’re attracted to me anyways,’ and instead I just shrug.

“Your fault for sitting next to me,” I finally reply. “Would’ve thought you’d gotten enough of me this weekend, given that you dragged me home with you.”

“I could never get enough of you,” James teases, ruffling my hair playfully.

I swat him, because honestly, the boy has an obsession with ruining my hair. But as usual, I have no idea how to interpret his words.

I look to our friends, who are all now eying this exchange between James and I with a degree of interest.

Bless Freddy for steering the conversation back to its original topic. “Anyways, I accidentally released the Snitch, which was just fan-fucking-tastic given that we had no Seeker and trying to get Chasers to find a tiny gold ball went about as well as you’d expect.”

I listen to the conversation, not contributing much but enjoying it nonetheless. Dom and Alec look genuinely happy, and James is actively participating in the conversation – which is good for him, given how much he’s been through this weekend.

Eventually, the conversation begins to dwindle, and the number of people on the couches dwindles as well. I’m not tired given just how much I slept during the day today, so I linger.

It ends up being just James and I, which normally would lead to some sort of snogging, but I find that I’m not really in the mood for it tonight. So I slide in closer to James and rest my head against him. His arm instinctively wraps around my waist, and I can’t help but feel a flood of contentment.

When we’re like this, it’s easy to pretend we’re a real couple. And I think I’ve finally accepted that yes, that’s what I want. I want James as a proper boyfriend. Although I have absolutely no clue if he feels the same.

I start absentmindedly tracing patterns on his jeans, not really paying attention as my fingers drift higher up on his inner thigh.

“Abby, if we’re going to just sit here, you’re going to need to not do that.”

James’ tone is stretched, and he’s resolutely staring at the fireplace, refusing to make eye contact. It surprises me for a moment, realizing the effect I have on him.

And then it lights something up inside of me. I may not have been in the mood before, but I am now.

It’s a matter of seconds until I’ve swung myself around so that one knee is on either side of James’s body, and I lean my head down to meet his lips with mine.

James responds in kind, roughly grabbing onto me and pulling me closer, his thumbs digging into the skin just below my hipbones.

“Not too sharp now, are they?” I mutter against his lips.

James responds to my taunt by closing the last inch of space in between us. The kiss is passionate and aggressive – there’s something different about it, a new level of desperation, that wasn’t there before.

I roll my hips against his, and the groan it elicits from him is muffled against my lips, but I swear I feel it reverberate throughout my whole body. My fingers start working at the buttons on his shirt – almost of their own accord – and I realize that this new energy means that I don’t know if either of us is capable of stopping. We could very well end up shagging in the middle of the Gryffindor common room.

Of course, this fails to consider another, equally plausible option.

“ _I KNEW IT!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneak peek of chapter 37…
> 
> “I knew there was something going on between the two of you!”
> 
> A stream of swear words runs through my head, but none of them quite make it to my tongue. Seriously, we’ve managed to keep this whole thing a secret for so long, and within 24 hours we’ve been caught by not one, but two separate people. Both of whom are directly related to James.
> 
> This isn’t good.


	37. Complication #37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Words can in fact hurt just as much as sticks and stones.

“ _I KNEW IT!_ ”

The words are as good as ice water. I jump off of James, ungracefully trying to put as much space between us as I can.

Standing in at the bottom of the stairs to the girls’ dormitories is Lily, her face illuminated by wandlight and her mouth quirked up into a devious grin.

“I knew there was something going on between the two of you!”

A stream of swear words runs through my head, but none of them quite make it to my tongue. Seriously, we’ve managed to keep this whole thing a secret for so long, and within 24 hours we’ve been caught by not one, but two separate people. Both of whom are directly related to James.

This isn’t good.

I lock eyes with James, who looks like he’s been hit with a few solid stunning spells.

“It’s not what it looks like,” I finally manage, realizing full well that that’s arguably the worst explanation I could give because it’s  _exactly_ what it looks like.

“So you two  _weren’t_ just snogging each other’s faces off in the middle of the common room? Because I can’t possibly think of another explanation for why you two were literally on top of each other and James’ shirt is halfway undone.” Lily smirks at me, and I decide that the Potter smirk definitely has to be an inherited trait.

The mention of James’ name seems to shake him from his shocked state, and he quickly starts to re-button the section of his shirt that I’d undone.

“Okay, yeah, that part was what it looked like,” I admit sheepishly, unable to look Lily in the eye. “But it’s not – we’re not – “

James says the words I can’t quite form. “It’s just snogging. We’re not together.”

Even though James’ words were exactly what I was trying to get out, they sting.

I  _hate_ that we’re doing this whole thing with no strings attached. I hate that when this is all over, James is going to walk away like nothing ever happened, and I’m, inevitably, going to be hung up on him for ages.

Love is a bitch.

Lily raises an eyebrow, looking at her brother skeptically. “Sure,” she finally replies, drawing out the vowel in a manner that suggests she doesn’t really believe either of us.

I guess him dragging me home with him this weekend slightly complicates the idea that there’s nothing happening between us beyond snogging.

Even though it’s true.

“Seriously, Lily,” I say, in what I hope sounds like a pleading tone, “please don’t tell anyone. I really don’t need any more rumours about me spreading around this school.”

She thinks about this for a minute. “Okay,” she finally relents. “My lips are sealed – but you two need to sort out… whatever this is.”

I  _do_ have it sorted out – and that’s exactly where my current problem lies. Curse James and his aversion to relationships.

It’s kind of funny that Lily sounds like the older sibling in this situation, when she’s younger than James by three full years.

“Now, I came down here to grab my Charms textbook – not be mentally scarred by my brother sticking his tongue down your throat. So I’m just going to grab that, and you two can continue with… er, whatever it was you were about to do before I walked down here.”

She crosses the room, grabs the book in question, and disappears back up the girls’ staircase. All the while, James is staring intently at his feet and I’m frozen in place.

“Well, fuck,” James says as soon as we’re alone. “That was awkward.”

And suddenly I can’t even look at him. It hurts me – physically  _hurts_  me – to look at him and hear the words, ‘ _it’s just snogging_ ’ echoing through my brain.

“I – I’m going to go now,” I manage to choke out, before turning away from him.

I vaguely hear James offer me the Cloak as I’m leaving, but I can’t look back. I can’t look at the boy that my heart decided to fall in love with, despite all the signs that falling was a terrible, terrible idea.

So I sprint the staircases, taking the steps two at a time, feeling my heart pounding in my ears because at least I can focus on that instead of the tightness in my chest.

Merlin, I’m a wreck.

The Ravenclaw common room is entirely empty when I arrive, which is a blessing because it allows me to use the space to catch my breath again.

By the time my breathing and heart rate slow, I no longer feel like a knife is twisting in my chest. Suddenly, everything feels like a massive overreaction – it’s like I can finally think clearly again and see how ridiculously  _lovesick_  I’m being.

And yet I don’t know how to stop it.

Godric, I hate this. I just want to go back to the time before I realized my feelings for James. At least then I wasn’t so worked up about all of this.

Ignorance really is bliss.

 

* * *

 

Given that it’s the last week before Easter holidays, I have an almost-ridiculous amount of work to do before the end of the week. Being away from Hogwarts for the weekend didn’t help.

Since most of the classes after the holidays are going to be dedicated to N.E.W.T. revision, this is basically the last week of professors assigning any new material. So they’ve all gone into a frenzy, and I spend every ounce of free time in the library or the dormitory.

After dinner on Wednesday, I’m accidentally-on-purpose forgetting about James and I’s planned flying session. I’ve been trying to subtly put space between us all week – being with him for a whole weekend clearly wasn’t good for my emotional state, so perhaps spending less time with him will help me get over this stupid crush.

Even though I know it’s much more than just a crush.

And in my defense, I’m not skipping out on flying just for the sake of ignoring him. I actually have a Charms essay due tomorrow that’s in an awful state – three inches too short with absolutely no new information to add.

The dormitory door swings open, and Scarlett and Brooke both come in.

“Your  _boyfriend_  is waiting outside the common room for you,” Brooke says casually, looking over at me.

“Not my boyfriend,” I correct her.

Despite the incorrect terminology, I know that she’s referring to James.

Well, so much for ignoring him tonight. I abandon my essay and look around for my broom – if he’s gone so far as to wait outside the Ravenclaw common room for me, I probably should go.

“Yeah, I suppose he wouldn’t be,” Brooke replies, her voice acerbic. “He already got what he wanted from you in September – you’re nothing but a used little toy to him at this point.”

Brooke doesn’t know the real story – she just knows what the Hogwarts rumour mill says, which is that I’m trying to get with him a second time – and yet her words hit too close to home.

The phrase ‘ _it’s just snogging’_  reverberates through my thoughts again.

I don’t respond, other than to throw my cloak on and walk out the door.

When I walk out of the common room, James is leaning against the wall.

“Forgot about me, did you?” he teases.

And normally I’d come up with some sort of witty banter in response, but I can’t find the energy. “Sorry about that,” I reply, and the strained tone in my voice gives me away.

James catches it. “Abby, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just – Brooke made a comment just now that was a little too personal.”

It’s not the whole truth, but it’s not a lie either.

“You shouldn’t let the things that either of them say affect you,” James advises, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world to ignore the pointed jabs of people who were once your closest friends. “They’re just being petty.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

And I think James understands that I don’t want to talk about it anymore, because he doesn’t bring it up again on the entire walk down to the pitch. Instead, we devolve into the typical seventh-year moaning about assignments and N.E.W.T.s, and I’m grateful for the distraction.

I fly a bit more aggressively than usual, taking out all of my frustration at everything by shooting around the pitch as fast as I possibly can. My turns are a little too sharp and my stops a little too rough. Honestly, it’s a wonder I don’t do something stupid like fly into the goalposts.

When we land, James goes in to kiss me. I duck out of it, reviving the excuse of having to finish a Charms essay.

Technically, it’s not even a lie.

 

* * *

 

“I don’t understand how we’re meant to write an essay on defences for Unforgivables,” Molly complains, looking up from the spread of books she’s created on the floor of the Ravenclaw dormitory. “I mean, they’re the nastiest spells known to wizardkind – this seems far beyond N.E.W.T. level.”

Dom, Caroline, and I are working on essays from the comfort of our beds; Molly and Amelie don’t have that luxury, given that their beds are in an entirely different House. So instead, they’ve both taken it upon themselves to spread out on our floor.

“Yeah, Wright seems determined to over-prepare us for the exam,” Dom adds. “But ask Abby about it – she’s our resident Defence expert.”

I immediately look up at her. “I’m what?”

“You managed to teach James how to cast a corporeal Patronus, didn’t you?”

“Well, yeah, but – ”

“Hence,” she replies resolutely, “you’re our resident Defence expert.”

“Okay, that’s fair,” I concede, before looking over at Molly. “What don’t you understand?”

“Well, first of all, there’s the fact that traditional Shield Charms aren’t effective on them, and I don’t understand  _what_ is so different about this particular magic that makes it immune to Shields.”

“There’s a paragraph on that somewhere in our textbook,” Caroline answers. “I can’t remember the page, but it’s something about the magic required to cast the curse being stronger than most."

“Well then how the hell is someone supposed to block it?”

“You don’t,” I reply instantly. “Unforgivables are unblockable.”

Molly lets out a protracted sigh. “That’s helpful.”

“There are other things you can do though,” I continue. “You can use an object to block it, or you can interrupt the caster before they finish the incantation. It’s next-to-impossible to do an Unforgivable nonverbally, so you generally get a little bit of a hint that it’s coming.”

“How Wright expects us to turn that into a foot-long essay, we’ll never know,” Amelie says.

“By adding on paragraphs of detail and useless information – the same way we hit the length requirements for every essay at this school,” I answer. “I’m pretty sure I included at least a paragraph of information about all of the theories about how Harry Potter survived two separate Killing Curses.”

“Godric, I hate writing about my own family members,” Dom whines. “Like, yes, objectively, I get that he saved the world and all, but to me he’s still the dorky uncle who got too drunk at Christmas dinner two years ago.”

I nod – it’s weird enough for me to reconcile the image of the famous Harry Potter with the man I’d been introduced to as James’ father, so I’m sure it has to be ten times stranger for the people actually related to him.

“I’m going to be so fucking grateful when I get to throw this essay on Wright’s desk tomorrow morning and not think about school for a full two weeks,” Caroline says.

“Hear, hear,” I respond.

 

* * *

 

And turning in that essay is a fantastic relief – so much so, that we all decide to take advantage of the not-entirely-terrible weather that afternoon by lounging by the Black Lake.

I’ve conjured a picnic blanket and am laying on my back, staring aimlessly at the clouds drifting by. After all of the heavy thinking I’ve been doing this week – between all the essays and this whole ‘love’ situation – focusing on nothing in particular is a blessing.

Amelie is skipping rocks across the lake, Dom is plotting Quidditch strategies, and Molly is absentmindedly creating puffs of smoke with her wand. I take a moment away from my cloud-watching to look at them, all perfectly content in their own way.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Caroline and the boys making their way over to us. I focus on the clouds again. It’s a foolish idea, really – that no one will notice me if I don’t pay attention to them – but it doesn’t stop me from doing it.

“Fucking freedom, finally,” Fred says as soon as he reaches our little group.

I watch him drop unceremoniously to the ground out of the corner of my eye, then grab Caroline and all but pull her on top of him.

“Freedom until we have to start spending all of our free time studying for N.E.W.T.s,” Molly amends.

“Oi! Don’t be such a spoilsport.” Simon flings a twig at Molly for emphasis.

She glares at him. “I’m literally holding a wand right now. I wouldn’t try that again if I were you.”

I don’t pay attention to the rest of the conversation, because I feel someone sit in the space next to me. I don’t even have to look to know that it’s James.

He nudges me, and I unconsciously tense up. It’s like my body is naturally going into a defensive mode, even though James is arguably the lowest possible threat to me.

Minus, you know, the fact that I’m hopelessly in love with him and he’s made his feelings so incredibly unclear that he could very easily break my heart into tiny pieces.

And it’s infuriating that I’m stuck in useless daydreams of spending the rest of my life with  him while he’s just… blissfully unaware of it all.

“Whatcha thinking about?”

I can’t really tell him the truth: ‘you.’ So I go with a half-truth. “The future.”

“I can’t tell if you sound like you’re excited for it or dreading it,” he contributes.

“Could be either, really,” I answer, and James is completely clueless to the fact that my words have dual meaning.

But he seems to realize that I’m not in the mood to talk, and we lapse into a comfortable silence.

Or, it would be comfortable were it not for the fact that our bodies are side-by-side and it’s making my heart beat faster of its own accord. And I can’t very well scoot away from him without making things awkward, because we’ve been totally okay with being this close for so long and it would make it oh-so-obvious that something has shifted.

Honestly, the Cruciatus might be less painful than this situation.

 

* * *

 

I like to think myself a relatively organized person, but somehow, our dormitory has descended into complete anarchy lately. There are clothing items everywhere, and I can barely suss out what belongs to me and what doesn’t. I’ve taken to putting all my clothes in a pile on my bed, and the stack has gotten rather impressive.

It’s honestly a shock that there are still clothes in my trunk, given how much is currently on my bed.

I’m interrupted from this messy fashion of attempting to pack by a tapping on the window. When I slide it open, an owl drops a piece of parchment into my hands. I’d recognize the handwriting anywhere.

 

_Abby –_

_URGENT. Meet me in the classroom next to Transfig ASAP._

_James_

A million potential scenarios run through my head – his dad being back at Mungo’s, some Quidditch injury, an altercation with Blaise. And so, despite whatever weirdness I’m feeling about us, I set off in the direction of the classroom he’s specified.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneak peek of chapter 38…
> 
> I’m startled by my own sudden profanity, and judging by the wince that briefly crosses James’ features, he feels the same.
> 
> He recovers after a moment. “Well then, care to explain what it is about?” 
> 
> And the flood of thoughts in my head comes pouring out of my mouth.


	38. Complication #38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don’t start arguments that you’re too scared to end.

I don’t know what I’m expecting when I walk into the abandoned classroom, but it certainly isn’t James instantly backing me against a wall.

In the shock of it, I snog him back for a few seconds before getting my bearings. At which point I put my hands on his chest and push him away.

“What was so urgent?” I ask, slightly out of breath.

“This,” James explains, as if it’s the most obvious thing. “We’ve barely seen each other all week, and I know you’re probably still freaking out about the Lily thing but we’re about to leave on holidays and there’s no way we’ll get caught down here.

For all my worrying, it was just… this. James wanting a snog.

Something inside me breaks. All the pent-up emotions, the muttered comments, the echoing voices in my head – the dam shatters and they all hit me at once like an unstoppable tidal wave.

Maybe Brooke was right. I’m nothing but a toy to him.

“I’m not some bloody owl that you can summon when you get bored,” I snap, poison suddenly dripping from my tone.

“What do you – ”

“And where do you get off calling you being horny as ‘urgent’?” I interrupt him. “Because here I was, panicking that your dad was back in the hospital or something like that, and – ”

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t think you’d take it like that.” James can tell I’m angry, and has the good sense to take a step backwards.

“Of course you didn’t – you didn’t think that one through at all, did you?” I practically yell.

Now, my anger is starting to seep into James as well, and he crosses his arms in front of his chest. “No, I didn’t, but I already apologized for it, so I don’t understand what the hell you’re still mad about.”

“It’s –  _fuck,_  it’s not just about the bloody note!”

I’m startled by my own sudden profanity, and judging by the wince that briefly crosses James’ features, he feels the same.

He recovers after a moment. “Well then, care to explain what it  _is_ about?”

And the flood of thoughts in my head comes pouring out of my mouth. “It’s about the fact that all of this is just a game to you! That you’re just perfectly content doing whatever you want and not thinking about the consequences, and you’re sending all these mixed signals where it’s just snogging and then you’re taking me home to meet your parents and holding my hand all the damn time and I just – how in Godric’s name am I supposed to understand all of that? I can’t tell what you want from me, and it’s infuriating!”

James just gapes at me.

I don’t know what comes over me, but a laugh bubbles from my lips. A cold, humourless laugh at the sheer absurdity of the situation. “And do you know what the best part of all of this is? I was right. I was  _RIGHT_. I knew this friends-with-benefits business was going to get messy, that boundaries were going to get crossed and feelings were going to get hurt. Because here we are, and I’m still nothing but a toy to you.”

“Abby, what the hell?” James finds his voice again. “You’re not – you’ve never been a  _toy_. Why would you even think that? And I don’t know what you mean about being right, because – ”

“ _Dammit, James, I’m in love with you_!”

And it’s all out there. Perhaps not in the most eloquent way possible, but it’s out there. All my cards are on the table, and there’s no taking them back now. The words hang in the silence, broken only by my own heavy breathing.

James looks like he’s been hit with a Stunning spell – like the words that just came out of my mouth were the last possible thing he expected me to say. And finally: “Shit. ”

Oh, Godric. How could I have been so naïve as to expect that James would instantly reciprocate my feelings? This is the same person who told me just a few weeks ago that he didn’t want a serious relationship at Hogwarts, so why did some part of me believe I was capable of changing his mind?

I inwardly curse myself for being so stupidly vulnerable.

I do my best to regain my composure, even as my cheeks flush with embarrassment. “Right, then,” I say, an uneven calmness steadying my tone as I smooth out the imaginary wrinkles on my uniform.

I can see James trying to formulate some sort of actual response, but instead of waiting around for him to say anything, I handle the situation the same way I’ve handled every major confrontation this year.

I run.

 

* * *

 

I’m not running anymore by the time I get to Ravenclaw Tower, but my emotions have manifested themselves in the form of far too much pent-up aggression. I get up to the dormitory and start throwing clothing items into my trunk with what is probably considered excessive force.

It’s this blind rage, I suppose, that explains why I barely notice Dom and Caroline’s presence in the room or the fact that the two of them are regarding me with something of a terrified curiosity.

Dom’s the one to eventually bring me back to reality. “So, what’d my cousin do this time?”

She catches me off guard, and the top I was about to throw falls listlessly to the floor.

“What?”

“I’m assuming that this sudden bout of anger is directed at something James did,” Dom replies matter-of-factly.

My frustration is replaced by confusion. “Why would you say that?”

She’s not wrong, but I still don’t know where she got the idea from.

“Oh, please, don’t give me that. I’ve known there was something going on between you two for ages now.”

“How – ”

“Well for one, when I mentioned setting you up with him on Valentine’s, I think your eyes almost popped out of your head,” Dom comments mildly. And I’m surprised, because I thought I’d covered that one well. “But since you were so quick to deny it, I figured I wouldn’t push the issue. Oh, and also – his Quidditch jersey is currently sitting on your trunk, so that was a dead giveaway.”

Technically, that’s from when I went home with him, but I don’t actually know if that’ll help my case here.

“And here I thought we were doing such a good job keeping it a secret.” I resume packing my trunk, but with slightly less aggression this time.

“If it’s any consolation,” Caroline chimes in, “this is literally the first I’m hearing of any of this. I just… what? How long have you two been shagging, anyways?”

“We’re – we were just snogging, not shagging.” When Dom cocks her head at me, I explain further. “I told him I didn't want to go any farther than snogging if it was just a casual thing. Which I know is real rich, coming from me.”

“It’s your body, you get to do whatever you damn well please with it,” Dom replies, waving off my comment and switching back to the original topic of conversation. “So what happened just now that has you taking it out on your packing?”

I briefly consider fabricating something to save face, but quickly decide against it. The Abigail of the beginning of the year did that, but the Abby of now won’t.

“I just – I knew that a no-strings-attached situation was going to get messy,” I answer honestly. “But I did it anyways. And somewhere along the way I managed to fall in love with him.”

“Shit.”

“Coincidentally,” I say wryly, “that was his exact response as well. I told him I loved him and he looked at me like I’d just sprouted an extra head and the only response he could manage was ‘shit.’ ”

At that, Dom actually laughs. “I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t be laughing, but Merlin, that’s just so classically  _James_. It takes him like three to five business days to process emotion.”

I sit on my bed, the pile of clothes now fully packed, and flop backwards dramatically. “Why couldn’t I have picked some emotionally functional bloke to fall for instead?”

“If it’s any consolation,” Dom says, “I do think you two would be good together, if James ever sorts himself out.”

I lift my head to give her a look, wanting her to elaborate. Obviously  _I_  think we’d be good together, but I’m a bit biased given the whole being-in-love-with-him thing. I want to hear her perspective.

“You two balance each other out – you bring out the more responsible side of him and he brings out the more fun side of you. You’re opposites… but in a good way.”

I consider that for a moment. “Funnily enough, his mum said the same thing.”

Now it’s Dom’s turn to give me a confused look. “When I went home with him last weekend,” I add, for context.

“You know, typically you meet the parents  _after_ you start dating,” Caroline quips.

Dom laughs again. “You two really did this whole thing backwards, didn’t you?”

“At this rate, we’ve hit basically every relationship possibility minus, you know, the actual  _dating_  one,” I mutter.

“For what it’s worth, I see how he looks at you sometimes,” Caroline says, looking pensive. “And I doubt that he  _actually_  doesn’t have any feelings for you. I didn’t know about this whole snogging business, but I did figure he fancied you. Perhaps he’s not entirely aware of those feelings just yet or he’s in some sort of denial, but I have a pretty good feeling that they’re there somewhere. He’s just… really emotionally dense, it seems – more so than Freddy, and I didn’t even know that was  _possible_.”

I want her assessment to be correct, but I also don’t want to get my own hopes up.

“Well, I guess we’ll see,” I reply vaguely. “He’s got all of Easter holidays to figure it out, so there’s his three to five business days.”

“Do you want me to talk to him?” Dom asks.

My answer is immediate. “No. I need – if this turns into something, I need to know he’s doing it because he actually feels something, not because he feels pressured into it.”

“Roger that. Although I do feel obliged to apologize for the fact that my dumbarse of a cousin is the git that has you feeling like this.”

I shrug. “You have absolutely no control over his actions.”

Dom giggles. “Isn’t that the truth. If I did, we probably wouldn’t have had that one day in fifth year where the Entrance Hall staircase got turned into a giant inflatable slide.”

As we all take turns recounting the best and worst practical jokes that have happened in our time at Hogwarts, I start to feel a little bit better.

 

* * *

 

In all honesty, I probably couldn’t have picked a more opportune time to give an unrequited declaration of love, because at least I don’t have to face James on a regular basis in the aftermath.

I just have to make it through the train ride.

Dom, Molly, Amelie, Caroline, and I all hop in one carriage, but we somehow end up splitting up once we reach the Hogwarts Express. Molly goes off to find Davies, and then Caroline and Dom head in the direction of the compartment containing their boyfriends. That compartment almost certainly contains James as well, so I head in another direction. Amelie follows me.

“I figure we can sit with Rose and Scorpius,” I tell her as we check who’s inside each compartment. “I feel like I haven’t talked to them in  _ages_.”

And bless Amelie, because she doesn’t question my decision at all.

It doesn’t take long to find the two of them – they’ve claimed a compartment with Al and Cecile towards the back of the train.

Scorpius is oddly jittery, his knee bouncing up and down despite the fact that Rose has her hand on top of it. Cecile and Al are in the far corner of the compartment; Cecile has her forehead resting on Al’s shoulder as he runs a hand through her hair.

Amelie senses some of the weirdness. “Is everything alright with you lot?” she asks, falling into a seat.

“I’m introducing Scorpius to my parents today, and he is  _majorly_ overreacting.” The second part of Rose’s sentence is accompanied by a shove to Scorpius’ side.

“You’re introducing me as your  _boyfriend_ , and that’s a much bigger deal,” Scorpius argues.

“And Cecile’s just feeling ill,” Al provides, pulling his girlfriend closer to his side.

Amelie gives the couple a sympathetic look. “She really should’ve gotten some Pepper-Up Potion while we were still at the castle,” she says.

Cecile lifts her head up and weakly smiles. “Ah, Amelie, ever the Healer. Yes, I probably should’ve.”

After a beat of silence, Rose changes the subject. “So you and James are fighting again?”

It takes me a moment to realize that she’s addressing me. “Um, sort of?”

Amelie, who wasn’t there for my complete meltdown last night, gives me a puzzled look.

“I figured,” Rose replies. “That’s typically the only reason you sit with us.”

I suddenly feel incredibly embarrassed. “I didn’t mean – “

“No, I get it,” Rose interrupts. “It makes more sense for you to hang out with people in your own year, when said people  _aren’t_  being incredibly stupid.”

Scorpius finally stops nervously picking at his cuticles to join the conversation. “What happened this time?”

“Let me guess,” Al says before I have a chance to answer, “James told you he fancies you and you turned him down so now it’s awkward.”

I laugh at that, because it’s pretty much the  _exact opposite_ of what actually happened. “Definitely not,” I answer.

I can see how he’d think that though – Merlin, the mixed signals from James have been positively suffocating this past week.

“Honestly,” Rose says with a short laugh, “sometimes I’m surprised you two aren’t together yet, and other times I’m surprised you two have even managed to become friends given how often you two argue.”

She makes a pretty decent point.

As the conversation shifts to holiday plans, I hear Lila scratching against her carrier. I pull my adolescent kitten onto my lap and spend the rest of the train ride watching the trees fly by outside the window.

 

* * *

 

Once on the platform, I pass by a completely nonplussed Rose introducing a very nervous Scorpius to her parents, and I have to suppress a giggle at the whole scene. Her father looks completely gobsmacked, opening and closing his mouth repeatedly, a bit like a goldfish.

And I’m so distracted by watching that scene that I don't even notice Diana rushing up to me until she’s already wrapped me in a hug.

“Abby!” she says, letting me go after a few seconds. “It’s so good to see you!”

It takes me a moment to get over the shock of her being here. “I didn’t realise you were coming to pick me up – I thought I was just Apparating there,” I finally manage.

Diana looks at me, almost scandalised. “Of course I’m picking you up! You’re one of my bridesmaids, for Merlin’s sake.”

“Oh,” is all I say in response.

“I’m so glad you’re staying with us these whole two weeks,” she continues, starting to walk in the direction of the platform exit. “I’d love some help with the finishing touches for the wedding.”

“Yeah, I’ll help,” I answer, Diana’s words suddenly making me feel like I’ve forgotten something.

Oh bugger. I know what it is – I meant to owl my mother a few days ago to let her know I was staying with Dad and Diana for all of Easter break, but the drama with James made me completely forget about it.

As soon as we get home, I immediately pull out a piece of parchment to do just that.

 

_Mum –_

_I’m staying with Dad and Diana for Easter break. And I’m still being a bridesmaid in their wedding. I know you didn’t want me to participate, but I’m not choosing one of you over another. You’re both my parents, even though you don’t get along anymore. I’m plenty capable of loving you both. I’ll see you at graduation._

_All my love,_

_Abby_

It’s short and to-the-point – and probably the most honest communication I’ve had with my parents in years. I’ve always been willing to let myself be a pawn in their game, because I didn’t think I had a choice. But I’m done with that.

James would be proud.

And then I mentally smack myself, because why does my mind have to bring everything back to him?

I decide then and there that I’m going to use this break productively. I’m going to prove to myself that I’m capable of being this new version of myself, the version that I’m actually proud of, with or without James’ involvement. 

That way, if, in two weeks’ time, James decides he wants nothing to do with me, it’ll hurt just a little bit less.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, the AO3 version of this story is officially caught up to where it is on my other posting platforms!! Which means updates will likely come about once a week from this point onwards.
> 
>  
> 
> Sneak peek of chapter 39…
> 
> I try on a lacy black top with tight jeans, admiring my reflection in the mirror. As someone who has almost exclusively worn dresses for her entire life, it’s a weird look on me. But I like it.
> 
> Not to mention they make my bum look good enough to make James realise he’s an idiot for even considering letting me go.
> 
> And then I have to stop and remind myself that I’m not thinking about him anymore. At least, not for the next two weeks.
> 
> I’m buying these jeans for myself, dammit.


	39. Complication #39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It can be hard to recognize something that’s been right in front of you all along.

The combination of an incredibly stressful academic week and everything with James somehow results in me sleeping for the rest of the day and through the night after getting back from Hogwarts, and that quickly morphs into a lazy morning of reading.

I’m working my way through a collection of Hans Christian Andersen fairytales. It’s been ages since I’ve read  _Tales of Beedle the Bard_ , but I’m pretty sure the Muggle stories are better.

I read the last few sentences of “The Nightingale” – savouring the moment as the bird returns and saves the day. Not every story in this book has a happy ending, but I like that this one does.

I shut the book, grabbing my dressing gown and accepting that I should probably do  _something_  today. First up on that task list: unpack, and put on real clothes.

With a few waves of my wand, my trunk has unpacked itself and I can properly see what I’m working with.

I stare at my newly-filled closet, feeling incredibly uninspired by everything in front of me. So much of these clothes just seem... off. They’re all ruffles and conservative hemlines and clean lines and so many of the things that i’m really not anymore.

So I find myself pulling things off the hangers, building a massive pile of things that don’t feel like me anymore. The result is shockingly bare racks of clothes, and a stack of everything else on the floor.

I end up throwing the contents of the pile into the trunk of my car. There are always Muggle clothing drives in the nearby town, so I can take the things I don't want there. Which leaves me with a perfectly justified excuse to Apparate into Muggle London for some shopping.

Retail therapy is a thing, right?

It’s a short-term solution to a problem that’s a bit deeper than that – a bit like putting a plaster on a deep wound, really, but it’s also what I’ve always fallen back on.

So I find myself at a shop I’ve never visited before, throwing outfit after outfit into a dressing room, determined to find things that feel ‘right’ for me.

I try on a lacy black top with tight jeans, admiring my reflection in the mirror. As someone who has almost exclusively worn dresses for her entire life, it’s a weird look on me. But I like it.

Not to mention they make my bum look good enough to make James realise he’s an idiot for even considering letting me go.

And then I have to stop and remind myself that I’m  _not_ thinking about him anymore. At least, not for the next two weeks.

I’m buying these jeans for myself, dammit.

The process continues, until I’ve collected an impressive variety of clothing items. And sure enough, I get that familiar rush of joy when the saleswoman passes me the shopping bags.

I swing by Juliette’s as well, trying not to remember the last time I was here – two days before the start of seventh year. It almost hurts to think about, in a weird sort of way because I both miss the simplicity of my life back then and can’t believe I was ever that person.

I’m only there to buy a bridesmaid’s dress for Diana’s wedding, and then I’m out before I spend too much time thinking about the past.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, I take my time methodically hanging each new item in my closet, even though I know it’ll all get thrown back in my trunk in just over a week’s time. There’s something mind-numbing about the routine, and I’m grateful for it.

“Abby?” Diana’s voice floats down the hallway.

I step out of the closet and into my bedroom just as she walks into the room as well.

“This just came in the post.” She hands me an envelope.

The letter feels heavy – a bit like a Hogwarts letter, to be honest. And the small, neat cursive on the front is a clear indicator that this definitely isn’t a letter from Dom or my mother. I flip the envelope over in my hand, and suddenly notice the Ministry for Magic seal.

I instantly rip it open, painfully curious.

 

_Miss Abigail Winchester –_

_The Auror Office has received your application for employment. Pending satisfactory scores on your N.E.W.T. examinations as outlined on the following page, we would like to offer you a position in the Auror Training programme. Following satisfactory completion of training, you would be placed full-time in the investigative department._

_The following pages contain a full employment contract. If you would like to accept the position, please return a signed copy to the Auror Office no later than 14 April 2023._

_Sincerely,_

_Hester Vance_

_Director of Auror Recruitment_

“I... got the job,” I find myself saying.

The comment was more to myself than anything, but Diana hears it. “You got a job?” she responds excitedly. “Abby, that’s fantastic! I didn’t realise you were applying for anything!”

“Yeah, I didn’t really tell anyone,” I admit.

Now that I think about it, I’m not really sure why I was so secretive about all of it. I mean, even James only found out when his dad mentioned it. Maybe it was because Flitwick made it sound like such a long shot, and I didn’t want to get my hopes up if the department decided against making any actual hires this year.

“What’s the job?”

“Oh, er, it’s with the Auror Office. In their investigative department.” I don’t know why I feel strangely self-conscious abound this admission.

“Wow, I didn’t know you were interested in that kind of work,” Diana replies. “But anyways, we should celebrate! You, me, and your dad - let’s all get lunch together one day this week. I want to hear all about it, and I’m sure he does too.”

Hearing her say that makes me excited, but a bit suspicious as well. Dad usually seems to prefer gifts as a form of celebration as opposed to actual conversation – although, if I think about it, that really only started after he and my mum divorced. I wonder, really, if he was just following her lead and that’s how it all turned into a massive competition.

I find myself answering, “yeah, that’d be lovely.”

“And I know a gorgeous flat complex near the Ministry – given that you’re getting a job and all, I’m guessing you’re going to want your own place? We should go tour it!”

Diana is a ball of energy, and it strikes me that she probably had the time of her life planning this wedding, if her excitement about helping plan my future is anything to go by.

And instead of getting annoyed by this eagerness, like I once would have, it makes my heart swell. I’ve been so caught up in this mess between my parents, in trying to smooth out their conflict and get their attention, that I’ve never really appreciated the fact that Diana has probably been a better parent than either of them as of late.

“I’d really love that,” I answer, and the smile I send her way is entirely genuine.

“We can go sometime this week, yeah? If there’s a lull in wedding planning, that is,” Diana responds. “Speaking of that, I’m supposed to be meeting with  _another_ caterer in like five minutes, so I should be off.”

She starts to head out of the room, but I interrupt her before she leaves.

“Diana?”

She turns back to look at me. “Yes?”

“I’m really happy you’re marrying my dad,” I tell her. The additional message behind my words: I’m really glad you’re about to become my step-mum.

She smiles, and I think she’s caught on to my hidden meaning. “Me too.”

 

* * *

 

Two days before the wedding, I meet Dom at the Leaky Cauldron. I’ve been helping with wedding preparations so much this past week, so Dom’s owl inviting me out is a godsend – I need some interaction that isn’t about cake and flowers and romance.

Once we’ve gotten our drinks, we find a relatively secluded booth.

“So, how’s wedding prep going?” Dom asks, taking a sip of her butterbeer. “I can only imagine it’s insanity – Vic isn’t getting married until the summer and she’s already panicked about everything.”

I ignore her initial question, fixating instead on a different point. “Wait, didn’t Teddy only just propose back in January?”

Dom shrugs. “Yeah, but Vic is completely set on a summer wedding, and they’ve been together for so bloody long that they’re too impatient to wait a whole additional year.”

“Makes sense,” I concede. “And as for your previous question, wedding preparations are going surprisingly well. Diana, like, thrives on planning things like this, I think.”

“What’s the wedding itself going to be like? I mean, is it all your dad’s high-society friends?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” I answer. “That’s why I invited – “

Oh, bugger.

Dom cocks her head at me. “That’s why you what?”

“That’s why Diana was trying to get me to bring a date,” I finish. “But instead I’m probably going to get sloshed on champagne at the reception and leave the thing as early as possible.”

In all honesty, that’s probably a pretty accurate assessment of how the night’s likely to turn out. My wedding date and I aren’t exactly on speaking terms, so it seems I’ll be going to this thing solo. I’ll just have to vanish James’ place setting or something.

“Probably how I’ll be spending Vic’s wedding too, if we’re being honest,” Dom replies with a laugh. “Alec will probably be in Greece already, anyways.”

From what I can gather, this Greece thing is probably why Alec and Dom broke up in the first place. Alec got a research position in a Grecian Ministry department deciphering runes, and Dom’s too passionate about her Quidditch career here in England to follow him there. She won’t say definitively that that’s what caused the argument, but it all adds up.

“Please, you know it won’t be like that. You’ve got all your cousins.”

Dom shrugs. “True. Although they’ll all also probably be getting sloshed on champagne anyways.”

I laugh at that. From New Year’s alone, it’s very clear to me that the Potters and Weasleys go hard on the champagne.

After a moment, Dom quickly sets her mug on the table, and the butterbeer sloshes up the sides of the glass from the force. “Oh fuck, I have a story for you.”

“Alright, let’s hear it.”

“Okay, so I got all of this from Lou a few days ago. Freddy enlisted him on Saturday to go ‘get James out of the house’ or something like that. James has apparently been, like, obsessively planning Quidditch strategies or something like that all break.”

She pauses for a second, considering something. “You know, come to think of it, it’s kind of funny that he keeps handling his falling-outs with you by getting wonky about Quidditch. But anyways, they decided that the best way to get him over that – mind you, I’m only hearing about this after the fact, otherwise I could’ve told them that this was a shit idea, but they decided the best way to get him back to his normal self was to take him to a club and play wingmen for him.”

My heart drops out of my chest, and I’m instantly assaulted by mental images of James with another girl. He couldn’t have…

Dom senses my distress and reacts immediately. “Okay, chill, this story isn’t ending the way that I can tell you’re thinking it’s going to,” she adds. “Quite the opposite, really. According to Lou, he was miserable for most of the night. Went through the motions and got properly drunk with the other two, but every time one of them brought a girl around, James just… closed up. And given James’ whole self-imposed ‘no-Hogwarts-girls’ rule, he would’ve  _never_ turned down the opportunity for a shag during hols before.”

“So, at the very least,” she concludes, “you’ve well and truly fucked up his normal mindset.”

I can’t tell if I’m reassured by that or not. I guess, at the very least, it’s somewhat comforting to know that he feels  _something_. Even if that something is just an inability to hook up with anyone else.

 “I suppose my snogging skills are truly one-of-a-kind,” I joke.

Dom reaches across the table to lightly shove me in the shoulder. “You know what I mean.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, yeah.”

“But seriously,” Dom says, no longer joking, “how are you feeling about it all?”

I could deflect the topic a second time, but I don’t think Dom would like that much.

“Honestly, I don’t feel like anything,” I say after some consideration. “It’s like I’m in some... weird sort of limbo right now. I guess it probably won’t hit me either way until we get back from Easter hols and I actually talk to James again.”

Dom thinks about that. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense.”

“But please,” I add quickly, eager to change the topic, “let’s  _not_  talk about that. Seriously, we can talk about anything else. You had tryouts this past week, right? How’d they go?”

Dom goes along with the change in subject, and I know that she probably won’t bring the topic up again unless I initiate it.

“Pretty good, actually,” she says. “I think, out of all of them, I clicked with the Wimbourne team the best – which will absolutely kill James when I tell him. You know, Arrows/Wasps rivalry and all that.”

“Well, I’m glad they went well,” I tell her. “We all know you’re going to be an amazing pro Quidditch player.”

Dom beams. “I sure hope so.”

 

* * *

 

I oversleep on the day of the wedding – I barely make it to the Portkey that’s been set up in the living room before it flashes blue. I close my eyes, and when I reopen them, I’m looking at Dad and Diana’s chosen wedding venue: a beachfront chapel in the south of France.

For a wedding between two magical people, the whole set-up is incredibly Muggle in appearance. Of course, that’s relatively unsurprising, given my father’s fascination with Muggle trends.

There’s a full tent set up for primping, and I see a number of hair and makeup artists arriving, all carrying small tote bags that are inevitably magically expanded to hold extensive amounts of product.

When I walk into the tent, I’m instantly reminded just how young I am compared to the rest of this wedding party. The next-closest bridesmaid to me in age is Diana’s younger sister, and she’s still in her thirties.

As a result, I have absolutely no idea who to talk to. And that certainly bodes well for how the rest of the wedding is going to go for me.

Luckily, I’m saved from the awkwardness by a makeup artist, who grabs onto my arm and instructs me to sit in a chair.

After my face has been fully made up and a hairstylist has come by to put my hair in loose waves, I change into my actual bridesmaid’s dress.

It’s the exact shade of lilac that Diana requested, floor-length with a halter neck, low back, and a narrow slit up the side of the flowing skirt. The cut of the dress works surprisingly well with my lack of curves, and I’m quickly approached by yet another makeup artist who puts a dusting of shimmer across my already-prominent collarbones.

The wedding is due to start in just 15 minutes now, and I watch from my own seat in front of a vanity as a makeup artist puts the final touches on Diana. She looks absolutely radiant.

Someone taps me on my shoulder. I look up to see another one of Diana’s bridesmaids – one of her friends from Hogwarts, I think.

“Abby, there’s someone here to see you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneak peek of chapter 40… (a v short preview because I’m not about to fully give away that cliffhanger just yet)
> 
> I duck out of the hair-and-makeup tent, and sure enough, there is someone waiting there for me.
> 
> Someone I’m simultaneously thrilled and terrified to see.


	40. Complication #40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s no such thing as “perfect timing.”

I duck out of the hair-and-makeup tent, and sure enough, there is someone waiting there for me.

Someone I’m simultaneously thrilled and terrified to see.

James stands in the grass, dressed in an infuriatingly well-fitted Muggle suit, his hair slicked back with product that will inevitably only last a few hours before his hair rebels against it and starts sticking up in all directions again.

He looks at me for a few moments. “You look… stunning,” he finally chokes out, as if it took him a bit to find the right adjective.

I feel a rush of blood to my face. So much for not being affected by him. “Thank you,” I answer. “But, er, what exactly are you doing here?”

James fidgets a little. “I told you I’d come to this wedding with you. So here I am.”

I want to respond with ‘yeah, but that was before I announced that I was in love with you and you freaked out in response,’ but I bite my tongue.

I can’t decide if he’s here out of an actual desire to be or out of some noble Gryffindor impulse, but I’ll accept his presence either way. At least it gives me someone to talk to.

“I – thanks,” I reply. “I’ve got to finish getting ready, but I’m pretty sure people are already taking their seats, so you should be able to go sit. I’ll find you after the ceremony, yeah?”

“Oh… yeah, okay.” James sounds strangely deflated, yet I’m not entirely sure why.

I step back into the tent. Once in front of a mirror again, I slide a sparkling hairpiece into my curls. Combined with the dress, the overall effect is somewhat Grecian goddess-like.

“Was that Harry Potter’s son out there?” Diana’s younger sister, Katherine, asks me as she walks up behind me.

“Er, yeah, it was,” I answer, a bit lamely.

“Nice catch.”

Before I have a chance to correct her – because I haven’t exactly ‘caught’ him – someone announces that the ceremony is beginning. And then we’re lining up, and the music is starting, and the wedding procession begins.

The ceremony itself passes relatively quickly, with Diana and my father positively beaming at each other throughout the whole thing. I catch James watching me at one point, and he smirks at me in response.

I don’t know how to interpret this – the fact that he showed up at my father’s wedding and he’s acting, for all intents and purposes, totally normal, even though the last time we spoke was when I told him about my feelings for him.

The rush of movement at the conclusion of the ceremony means that I lose James in the crowd. Instead, I almost literally run into someone, a man who’s likely in his early forties.

In the process of getting out of the wedding venue and to the reception area, we end up walking side-by-side and making small talk as a result. He introduces himself as Alexander Spinnet, and starts talking about his job as a Quidditch recruiter.

“I’ve been specializing in international recruits as of late,” he tells me, “which is actually how I know Diana – I’ve been seeing her quite a lot through the Department of Magical Transportation.”

“That’s so interesting,” a familiar voice says from behind me, and I feel James’ arm wrap around my waist. “But Abby and I really ought to be finding our table.”

I resist the urge to glare at James – I refuse to look at him at all, actually. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Spinnet,” I say to the man in front of me.

“The pleasure was all mine, Abigail.” And he turns into the crowd, no doubt off to find someone without an overly possessive wedding date to talk to.

I round on James. “What was that for?” I hiss.

“Did you not see the way he was looking at you?” James replies, sounding a bit annoyed.

“He was being perfectly friendly! And we were having a perfectly nice conversation until you interrupted.” I physically remove James’ arm from around my midsection.

“Once again,” he says, a bit softer this time, “I didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”

“And who granted you the right to decide on that? Last I checked, you don’t hold any sort of claim on me.”

James pales a bit. “About that,” he answers, and it’s so muffled that it’s almost a whisper.

I cock my head and raise my eyebrows, inviting him to continue.

He seems to deflate a bit, although I’m not sure if it’s from the way I’m looking at him or something that just went off in his head. “Okay, yeah, I shouldn’t have done that. I’ll be a better wedding date from here on out. On my honour.”

He holds a hand up solemnly, as if making an official pledge. The silly action makes me soften a bit, although I can’t help but feel like there was something else he was trying to say.

“Good,” I reply. “Now let’s go find our table.”

We are, rather predictably, sat at the “family of the married couple” table with Diana’s parents, her sister, and her sister’s husband. And I’m immeasurably grateful for James’ presence, even if he is being a bit odd, because at least I have someone my age to talk to.

I introduce James to all of them, and vice versa.

“Ah, so this is the young man we got Julian to sign a jersey for,” Diana’s father says after I’ve introduced him.

“And it’s my prized possession,” James answers quickly. “So thank you for that, sir.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says casually.

Once Diana’s family goes back to talking amongst themselves, James turns to me. “So… where’s your side of the family? I would’ve thought you’d be sitting with them.”

I shrug. “There isn’t anyone on my father’s side. My dad was an only child, and his parents died before I was even born.”

James’ eyes go wide. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” I tell him. “I never knew them.”

“You don’t need to know someone to miss them,” James replies almost immediately. I can’t help but wonder who he’s thinking about as he says that.

I don’t answer him, and instead we lapse into a silence that somehow feels much more awkward than our usual lulls in conversation.

I notice that James keeps running his hand through his hair, which has the effect of speeding up the process of it going rogue again.

“Oh, by the way,” he starts, after the food has arrived, “congrats on the job offer. My dad mentioned you’d gotten it.”

“Er, thanks,” I manage. Our conversation still feels stilted; I  _hate_ that we’re both being this awkward.

“He also…”

When James trails off, I reply. “He also what?”

“He – nothing. He just wanted to congratulate you as well.”

James is suddenly fascinated by his dinner. When I thank him again, he doesn’t even look back up. I don’t know how to feel. I can’t understand why he’s suddenly become so hard to read recently.

By the time they’re clearing away the dinner plates, James’ hair is fully back to its natural state.

“Your hair really refuses to listen to any hair product, doesn’t it?”

I’m hoping that some humour will finally break the tension that’s been basically crushing us all evening.

James reaches up to mess with it –  _again._ “Yeah, it kind of has a mind of its own. It’s a family joke that we’re all immune to it.”

“Really?”

“Yup,” he answers. “My great-grandad invented Sleekeazy’s, so there’s this running joke that my grandad – the first James – was conceived under the effects of hair potion, and now we’re all stuck with completely uncontrollable hair as a result.”

I almost drop my wineglass. That wasn’t the answer I was expecting. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Finally, James smiles. “Not even a little bit.” And then after a brief pause, “Want to dance?”

He offers his hand to me, and before I can really think about it, I take it.

It would be a lie to say that either of us are truly fantastic dancers, but we manage well enough, especially since the music playing doesn’t exactly demand a waltz step or anything else equally as complex. His left hand stays clasped in my right, and my free hand reaches up to his shoulder while his settles on my waist.

I can’t quite decide where to focus my eyes. To stare off in the distance seems rude, but to look into his eyes feels far too intimate for… whatever this is. I settle on looking straight ahead, which ends up being just above James’ shoulder.

There are moments where I swear I can feel him looking at me. Like he’s trying to say something. And I’m not going to say anything to force him along, but  _Merlin_ , the ambiguity is killing me. I’ve been wallowing in it for weeks now, and it feels like it may just take me under.

Suddenly, the music picks up pace, and we’re doing something different. James is creating his own steps, twirling me around and it’s somehow disastrous and graceful all at the same time. My dress flares out around me as I spin, and when James pulls me back in, I’m positively beaming.

I meet his eyes for the first time since we’ve started dancing, and his expression matches mine. His eyes are glowing, cheeks tinged pink, the corners of his mouth turned upwards.

And Circe, I’m screwed. I can’t believe I ever thought I was even a little bit over him.

A slow song comes on, and I unconsciously wrap both my arms around James’ neck. The space that was between us before is entirely gone as his hands go to my waist again. I rest my head on his shoulder, and something about it just feels right.

I can’t help but feel like we’re straddling a line between this moment and a lifetime. I vainly wish for the latter – I’d love nothing more than to stay like this forever.

James, apparently, doesn’t share the same sentiment. “Abby, I – “ he starts, his voice breaking through the soft sound of the music.

I pull away to look at him. He looks conflicted.

“Let’s get another drink,” he says.

And I doubt that’s what he was originally intending to say, but I have no proof otherwise. So I follow him to the open bar, grabbing a flute of champagne while we’re there.

 

* * *

 

The evening continues in much of the same fashion. I get a little tipsy from all the champagne at one point, but by the time I’m hugging my dad and Diana goodbye as they leave for their honeymoon, I’m stone-cold sober.

I keep waiting for James to say something,  _anything_. But we get to the Portkey designed to take us back to the UK, and he hasn’t given me any indication of his feelings.

When the Portkey flashes blue, we both grab onto it, and it dumps us unceremoniously onto my dad’s front porch. Given that he and Diana are off on their lavish honeymoon adventures, I’ve got the whole place to myself tonight.

I wait there for a few moments, giving James one last chance to actually say something. When he stays silent, I take that as my cue to go in.

I tap my wand to the doorknob, and it unlocks. “Goodnight, James,” I say, a bit coldly.

James looks startled for a moment. “Er, goodnight, Abby,” he manages.

And I shut the door and immediately go up to my room. It takes more self-control than it should not to lapse into a full-blown tantrum as I change out of my dress into a black silk camisole and pink satin shorts.

I’m just so incredibly frustrated that I just spent a whole evening with James and am still nowhere closer to knowing where we stand.                                                                

I take a deep breath. I will not blast my window to pieces again. I will not blast my window to pieces again. I will  _not_ blast my window to pieces again. I will  _NOT_ –

I hear a  _pop_ , followed a few moments later by a knocking at my bedroom door.

I’m only halfway expecting the person I see when I open the door: it’s James, now with an untied bowtie and even messier hair than before.

“Forget something?” I ask.

“Er, you could say that,” he answers, and then pauses. “Godric, I’m a Gryffindor in every way except for the one where it matters.”

I don’t respond to that, so he continues. “I was trying to pick the perfect moment for all of this – I had some vision of the exact set-up and everything, and then I kept second-guessing whether or not it was the right time and before I knew it we were leaving and you were going inside and –  _fuck_ , this definitely isn’t the perfect moment, given that I literally just Apparated straight into your house like an idiot and the whole wedding’s over already, but dammit, I couldn’t go to sleep without saying this so here I am.”

“James, you’re rambling,” I tell him, taking in the fact that he’s flushed and slightly out-of-breath.

“Yeah, I know I am,” he replies. “And I’m not done rambling. There’s a hell of a lot more where that came from.”

I have to hide my amusement. “Okay then. Let’s hear it.”

He takes a deep breath. “So you have to understand: I never planned on dating or anything at Hogwarts, you know that. I figured that was more of a thing I could handle in the future. So I just… wasn’t letting myself think about what we were, or how I felt about you. I mean, I don’t know if you’ve noticed yet, but I’m kind of… not the best with romance-y stuff. So when you told me you loved me… it scared the shit out of me.”

“How reassuring,” I reply sarcastically, trying not to betray any emotion. I still can’t quite figure out where this is going.

“I’m not done,” James tells me, giving me a look that suggests he’s got something of a speech prepared and I’m interrupting it. “Anyways, I’ve been a right mess over break. Fred and Louis showed up at one point because they’d heard I was in a rotten mood and wanted to get me out of it by taking me to a Muggle club. And then I spent the whole night being fucking miserable, because I just… none of the girls there were you.”

I already knew about that sequence of events from Dom, but hearing it from him is something else entirely.

He pauses to ruffle his hair again. “And then I was freaking out, because honestly, how the fuck am I supposed to know what being in love feels like when I’ve never even had a girlfriend before, outside of like one dumb fling when I was 14? So somehow I ended up talking to my dad, and he’s the one that put it all together for me. You’re the first person I want to see when something good happens – I mean, I tore through the damn castle to find you when I nailed a Patronus – and you’re the person I want around when something bad happens. And you make me… better. I like who I am when I’m with you.”

That glimmer of hope in my heart that’s been dormant for the past few weeks is now fit to burst. Is he saying…?

“The point of all of this is, dammit, I’m in love with you too,” he finishes. “Probably have been for a while. It just took me some time to realize it, is all.”

Whether it’s from James’ extended awkward monologue, the fact that he used my same words against me, or just him telling me that he  _loves me_  – most likely some combination of the three – I feel the corners of my mouth pull upward, my face splitting into a massive grin.

“You idiot,” I mutter, and all of his weird behavior at the wedding finally starts to make sense.

And then I kiss him.

“I believe the term you used was ‘right immature idiot,’ actually,” James says as soon as I pull away.

“What?”

“In the tunnel, after the party,” James explains. “You called me a ‘right immature idiot,’ right after you told me you didn’t actually hate me.”

I laugh at that, both at the memory and the fact that James has somehow remembered my exact phrasing. “I was wrong about a lot of the things I’ve said about you over the years, but I stand by that one.”

“And yet you love me anyways,” he teases, much less tense now than he was just a few moments ago.

“I do.”

It’s another perfect moment, both of us standing there smiling like maniacs, but this time when we move away, it won’t disappear.

So I feel no shame in being the person to break the silence. “Do you want to come in? I did promise you a snog in exchange for coming to this wedding with me.”

James laughs, before closing the already miniscule gap between our bodies. “You don’t have to ask me twice.”

And I wasn’t aware that our physical chemistry could get any better than it already was, but wow oh  _wow_  was I wrong.

 

* * *

 

Some amount of time later finds the two of us laying on my bed, still fully-clothed with legs entwined and my head on James’ chest. His thumb absentmindedly traces up and down my hip.

And I finally feel comfortable asking the question that’s been on my mind for the past few months now.

“So, what are we? What exactly are we doing now?” I ask, tilting my head up to look at James.

James lets out a low laugh, pausing to put together an answer. “Well, we’ve done it all at this point, haven’t we? Enemies, one-night-stand, friends, snog buddies, then straight into, well, this. I don’t know about you, but I think we should try to do things a bit more… orthodox, from now on. As in, I take you out on a date – you know, the way relationships are  _supposed_ to start.”

I smile at him. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“But,” he pauses, like he’s trying to figure out how to phrase the rest of the sentence, “I think we should keep us a secret for a little longer.”

I instantly tense up. Keeping this whole thing a secret was half of the problem in the first place, and part of the reason it’s taken us so long to actually define this relationship – not having to explain yourself to anyone allows for a lot more ambiguity.

And this just feels like James dragging out his commitment issues.

James senses my physical reaction to his words. “Okay, hear me out. When people find out we’re together, it’s going to be a shit show. Half of Hogwarts will freak the fuck out because the whole school lives for gossip – you know that, perhaps better than anyone – and there’s inevitably going to be some annoying story about it in the  _Prophet_ like there was when Al and Cecile started dating. And you and I… well, we don’t exactly have the cleanest history, do we? So it’ll be even worse. And all of that is going to be hell to deal with. I’d like at least a few weeks where we can enjoy this sappy new-relationship shit without having to juggle all of that as well.”

He… has a point.

“Okay,” I relent, relaxing into him again. “As long as this isn’t about you still being afraid of commitment, that makes sense.”

James abruptly slides his hand under my chin, pulling my face up so that I’m looking him in the eye. “It’s not a commitment thing. I didn’t use that word lightly – I wouldn’t have told you I loved you if I couldn’t see myself loving you for the rest of my life.”

He doesn’t say it in some smooth-talking fashion, like he’s trying to make some sort of romantic gesture. He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

And somehow, that makes me love it even more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has to be the fluffiest chapter ending I’ve ever written. And that’s saying something because I really like fluffy chapter endings.
> 
>  
> 
> Sneak peek of chapter 41…
> 
> “That's – this is a thing we do now, right?”
> 
> I bite back a laugh. James, once again, is a study of contradictions, confident when it comes to snogging but totally bewildered by something as innocuous as a goodbye kiss. I’m reminded that this is James’ first real attempt at a romantic relationship and he’s entering completely uncharted territory.
> 
> “Yes, this is a thing we do now.”
> 
> James’ uneasy expression shifts into a smile. “Okay, good. I like it.”


	41. Complication #41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Communication is key.

I don’t think James was planning on staying the night, but he’s still there when I wake up.

He’s sleeping on his stomach, limbs sprawled everywhere, and one of his arms is draped across my midsection. The right side of his face is squished into the pillow, his mouth slightly ajar. In this lighting, the incredibly faint spattering of freckles across the tops of his cheeks is particularly pronounced.

It’s kind of adorable, and it makes me giggle – the kind of annoying, lovesick sound that’s obnoxious to anyone but the person doing the giggling.

The noise rouses James, who opens his eyes and then blinks a couple times, attempting to bring the world into focus. “Good morning,” he eventually manages, his voice gravelly.

“You look cute when you’re sleeping,” I tell him.

James studies me for a few moments, his face breaking into a lazy grin. “I was right; I could get used to this.”

“What?”

“I’d been thinking earlier this week about how much I’d like waking up next to you.” At that, he flips onto his side and brings the hand currently previously around my waist up to cup my cheek.

“Yeah, I rather like it too,” I reply.

We stay there for a few moments, before James seems to notice something behind me and jumps out of bed.

“Fuck, it’s almost 10,” he says. “Mum’s going to kill me. I told her I’d be home by 11  _last night_.”

He scrambles to find his shirt and trousers – despite not intending on staying the night, he’d stripped down to just his pants at some point last night.

I sit up in bed. “So much for being a good influence on you,” I laugh.

James pauses in the middle of putting his trousers on. “What?”

“When I came home with you that weekend,” I explain, “your mum told me I was a ‘good influence’ on you. It’s safe to say I’ve ruined that impression now.”

James chuckles, resuming his process of getting dressed. “Abby, my mum knows how we got together at the start of the year. If she thinks you’re a good influence on me knowing that, I don’t think that me staying the night will change that opinion.”

Now it’s my turn to stare at him in shock. “She knows?”

“Er, yeah.” James ruffles up his hair. “When it got out that you and I hooked up, I thought it might end up in the papers or something -  you know, ‘James Potter: relationship wrecker.’ So I wanted to give her a heads up; I would’ve had hell to pay if she’d found out through the  _Prophet_.”

I will never be able to look Ginny Potter in the eye again.

“Holy mother of Merlin. Your mum definitely thinks I’m a slag.”

James crinkles his brow. “I really doubt that. I mean, yeah, you fucked up a little at the start of term, but in all honesty, she was more pissed off at me for that than anything, for choosing to hook up with a girl while she was drunk and who I knew had a boyfriend. And she’s always been big on the philosophy of ‘your mistakes don’t define you, how you grow from them does,’ and… all things considered, I think you’re a much better person for it.”

“And you’ve clearly managed to make an impression on my mum beyond just that incident,” he continues, “because she definitely likes you. She owled me twice during the last week before hols to ask if we were dating yet.”

I laugh, even though I’m still completely embarrassed. “Well, I suppose that would make sense. She did see us snogging on your couch, so – ”

“Wait, what?”

“Oh, yeah, apparently she was in the kitchen when we were kissing on your couch,” I respond.

“My mum is, quite honestly, very impressively nosy.” I laugh again at that, and James continues. “No, really, she’s actually walked in on Al and Cecile having sex before.”

I slap a hand over my mouth. “No, really?”

James sits back down on the edge of my bed. “Yes, really. And she still loves Cecile as if she and Al are already married, so you’re definitely freaking out about nothing.”

“I suppose,” I say. “Although she’s going to make a whole additional set of assumptions when you show up this morning. So you should definitely fix the fact that your buttons are all one off, because that makes it look like way more happened last night than just a snog and some cuddling.”

“Shit,” James mutters, quickly re-adjusting his shirt. “Yeah, I should probably get back home. I’ll see you on the train, provided my mum hasn’t actually killed me before then.”

He leans in for a short but affectionate kiss, but when he pulls away, he looks a bit uncertain. “That's – this is a thing we do now, right?”

I bite back a laugh. James, once again, is a study of contradictions, confident when it comes to full-blown snogging but totally bewildered by something as innocuous as a goodbye kiss. I’m reminded that this is James’ first real attempt at a romantic relationship and he’s entering completely uncharted territory.

“Yes, this is a thing we do now.”

James’ uneasy expression shifts into a smile. “Okay, good. I like it.”

And he Apparates away, directly from my bedroom, and I realize that I have approximately 45 minutes to get ready and get to King’s Cross.

 

* * *

 

The platform is just as busy as it always is, and I get briefly nostalgic when I realize that this is the last time that I’ll ever be boarding the Hogwarts Express.

And then I realize that the train is going to depart any second now, and any sense of nostalgia is dampened by the fact that there’s a very real possibility I’ll get left behind if I don’t board the train immediately.

I open the door to the compartment that I can distinctly hear Fred and Amelie’s voices coming from.

“Who knew Abby Winchester owned a pair of pants?” Fred jokes, as soon as he notices me.

I look down at my outfit: dark jeans and a thin jumper that drapes off one shoulder. “I did a little shopping over Easter holidays,” I provide as explanation.

“I, for one, am all for it,” Dom announces, grinning at me. “Your legs look bloody amazing.”

“Thanks!” I gush. I turn around to get my trunk and store it overhead, but James has already grabbed it. After he’s shoved it onto the rack, he looks at me and we lock eyes for a moment.

I can’t fight off the dumb little smile that makes its way across my face even if I wanted to.

I quickly find an available seat in the compartment, which ends up being directly across from James. Which is probably safer than me sitting next to him, because now that I know where we stand, I don’t know if I trust myself to keep my hands off of him for the full duration of the train ride.

And I’m not sure if keeping this whole thing a secret for a few weeks includes our friends as well. We should probably establish that at some point soon.

“So, James, how many weird plays do we have to look forward to learning now that you’ve apparently spent most of break devising Quidditch strategies?” Simon asks as soon as the train starts moving.

James laughs. “So many. There’s no way in hell we’re not winning the Quidditch Cup at this point.”

“Well, yeah,” Fred replies. “We’d have to lose to Hufflepuff by more than a hundred points to get knocked out of the first place spot.”

“Or you could have a low scoring game and Ravenclaw could score over 300 points in our match against Slytherin,” Dom adds.

“Not likely,” James says. “And I’m still mad at you for even  _considering_ playing for Wimbourne of all teams.”

Dom rolls her eyes. “You’re just mad that there’s a decent possibility that everyone in the family will start supporting your rival.”

“No, I’m mad that you’d play for a team that got its name from hitting a wasps’ nest at our Seeker and making him retire! They blatantly play dirty!”

“That was, what, a couple hundred years ago?” Alec responds, in defense of his girlfriend. “You’re blinded by team loyalty, mate.”

“Yeah, yeah,” James huffs.

Molly changes the subject. “Anything else interesting happen to any of you lot over break? Or is Dom still the only one with solid post-Hogwarts plans?”

James is looking at me, and the expression on his face is blatantly saying, ‘if you don’t tell them, I will.’

“I got a job offer from the Auror Office,” I say.

That creates a whole host of different reactions, mostly some form of congratulations.

I notice that Caroline’s smiling in my direction. When I make eye contact with her, she speaks. “I’m just so happy that you’re doing what  _you_  want to do with your life. You’ve come a long way from the start of the year, when you were letting Blaise tell you he wanted you to be his little stay-at-home housewife for the rest of your life.”

I think about it – and I have to admit, I’m pretty happy about the change too. I feel so much more in control of my life now than I did in September.

“Hold up, you mean to say Halstead was trying to control your career too?” Simon asks, looking at me. “And here I thought sleeping with your best friend was the extent of his fucked-up-ness.”

It’s funny that, back then, I really thought Blaise was trying to do what he thought was best for me.

“It’s irrelevant now, but yeah, I guess he was a bit… forceful in that regard.”

“Merlin,” Fred says. “Well, lucky for your next boyfriend, he has incredibly low standards to live up to.”

Caroline shoves him for that comment, and I don’t even have to look at James to know that he’s fighting to hold in a laugh.

“Abby’s standards are higher than Blaise Halstead nowadays, I’m sure of that,” Dom replies.

“ _Much_ higher,” James adds with a smirk.

Prat.

 

* * *

 

Getting James alone to talk is a lot easier than expected. I sit across from him again at dinner, which allows me to mouth the phrase ‘meet me after dinner’ at him when I’m confident no one’s looking. He nods to confirm he’s gotten the message.

“Oh, Dom, don’t let me forget,” I say, looking at the girl to my right. “I need to go visit Wright after dinner tonight – I told him I’d let him know when I found out about the Auror position since he wrote my letter of recommendation.”

“Got it,” she replies.

It’s not a lie, really – I do need to talk to Wright, but I can do it after class tomorrow.

After dinner, as I’m walking away from the Great Hall, I hear James make a similar excuse – something about fetching a playbook from his Quidditch locker so that he can transfer the new plays he worked on over break into it.

He catches up with me not long after. “Want to go for a walk around the grounds?” I ask.

James looks at me, a bit confused. “Why would we go outside?”

“Because,” I answer, shoving him good-naturedly, “you came up with an excuse that requires you to bring back physical evidence, and now we need to go get it. This is why you’re not a Ravenclaw.”

He raises an eyebrow at me. “Artful lying is more of a Slytherin trait, love. Kind of goes with the whole ‘cunning’ thing.”

I shrug and, once I’m sure there aren’t any other Hogwarts students around, I grab his hand. “So, I see your mum didn’t kill you after all.”

“No, she was actually surprisingly chill about my curfew-breaking,” he answers. “She seemed a bit… distracted by something else. Dunno what though.”

“Well that’s good,” I tell him, and we step out into the chilly evening air.

After a moment, I lean in closer to him, and he lets go of my hand in favour of wrapping his arm around my shoulders instead.

“Alright, we need to talk,” I start, launching into the speech I’d mentally prepared over dinner. “I know you and I tend to go about things differently – you love diving into things without a plan – but relationships require communication and, well, planning. We need to figure out some ground rules.”

James looks at me, a mixture of puzzlement and amusement. “Ground rules for what?”

“This,” I say, gesturing abstractly at the two of us. “Like, are we telling your family yet?”

“I hadn’t thought about that part yet,” James replies truthfully. And of course he hasn’t, because thinking through details isn’t his forte in the slightest.

“I don’t know how much longer I can keep it a secret from Dom and Caroline,” I tell him. “I kind of told them about everything that happened between us before Easter hols, so it’s only a matter of time until they ask for an update.”

James laughs at that. “Yeah, I kind of figured as much – Dom was giving me this  _look_  on the entire damn train ride back home, so I knew she had to know  _something._ ”

“In my defense,” I say, as we start to approach the Quidditch pitch, “I didn’t say anything to begin with. She’s the one who figured it out… and at that point I couldn’t really lie.”

“Dom is probably one of the most perceptive people on this fucking planet, of course she’d figured it out.”

“So yeah, back to the original question,” I reply, “when are we telling your family?”

“Soon,” he answers. “But, given that we’re trying to keep it a secret from everyone else in the school, I feel like we should tell everyone at once so we can also tell them to keep their damn mouths shut about it.”

“So you’re suggesting that we call an intervention and tell them then?”

“I mean, I hadn’t gotten to the ‘how’part just yet,” James answers, “but that would work.”

We get to the locker rooms, and James drops his arm from around me. He pushes the door to the boys’ side open, instantly going in and finding his locker. I expect him to hold the door open for me as well, but instead it almost hits me in the face.

We’ll have to work on that one.

I walk up to the bench behind him, taking a seat on it.  “Ok, so when are we telling them? Tomorrow night?”

James turns around, distracted from the process of getting his lock open. “Nah, we’ve got plans tomorrow night. Let’s do Wednesday.”

“Wednesday works,” I reply. “But… what do you mean, ‘we have plans’?”

“You and I are going on our first date tomorrow,” James says, grinning.

I raise my eyebrows. “Oh, are we now?” I respond coyly.

James shuts his locker, playbook in hand. “Well, assuming you’re free, yeah.”

I return his smile. “I just might be.”

“Good,” he answers. “Then it’s a date.”

After a moment, he adds, “Any other ground rules we need to cover?”

“Yes,” I reply, and it’s just a little too quick to be casual.

James sits down next to me. “And those are?”

“There’s – there’s just one,” I tell him. “I know that I should, objectively – I mean, we’ve been snogging for months now and I really do love you, but I just… I think I need more time before I’m ready to have sex with you again.”

James’ response is immediate. “Okay.”

I look at him, a bit surprised. “You’re… okay with that?"

James brushes a strand of hair away from my face, and leaves his hand resting on my cheek. It’s the same tenderness that revealed itself in brief waves before, but now it feels like it’s pouring out of him constantly whenever we’re alone together.

“Of course I’m okay with that. I want you to wait until you’re ready.” He pauses for a moment and takes a breath. “And the good news is, this time, you don’t have to worry about me shagging one of your best friends in the meantime, because one of them is my cousin and the other is dating one of my other cousins, so that’s royally fucked up either way. Not to mention, I’m not that much of an asshole.

James smirks at that, and a wave of relief washes over me – I hadn’t realized until now just how nervous I was about how James would react to this topic of discussion. Asking my last boyfriend to wait on me to be ready didn’t exactly have positive results.

But then again, James isn’t Blaise. Not even close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneak peek of chapter 42…
> 
> Suddenly, I hear a rustling noise behind me. I jump, and look back to see James leaning against the wall, invisibility cloak in hand.
> 
> “You scared me,” I tell him.
> 
> At that, James just laughs. “That’s at least half the fun of an invisibility cloak, love.”
> 
> “You’re insufferable.”
> 
> “Yeah, yeah,” he replies. “But more importantly, are you ready for the best first date of your entire damn life?”


	42. Complication #42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hogwarts rumour mill often gets it wrong.

The next morning, the Great Hall is practically buzzing with gossip when I walk in.

As I walk to our usual spot, I listen to snippets of conversation a bit more closely than usual, curious if anything has somehow gotten out about me and James yet.

A group of Hufflepuff third-years: “And apparently Lily Potter is back together with Declan Wood for, what, the third time?”

From the Gryffindor table: “Has anyone else noticed that Al is stuck to his girlfriend’s side even  _more_ than usual lately?”

And even a Slytherin fifth-year sitting with some Hufflepuffs: “I heard Dom Weasley got three separate professional Quidditch offers, and she’s picking whichever one her boyfriend tells her to.”

I actually snort at that last one, because Dom is probably the last person I’d expect to ever make her decisions based solely on a boy.

I am somewhat relieved, however, because while the Weasleys and Potters seem to be the centerpiece of Hogwarts gossip at the moment, James and I aren’t included in that. Somehow, I feel like keeping an entire relationship a secret is slightly harder than keeping casual snogging under wraps.

I slide into the seat next to Molly. “Your family seems to be the talk of Hogwarts this morning,” I report to her, reaching for the pitcher of coffee.

Molly rolls her eyes. “Oh Merlin, who is it this time?”

“Thus far, Lily, Al, and Dom.”

The mention of her name makes Dom join the conversation. “Do I even want to hear what people are saying about me?”

“Yours was easily the most ridiculous one,” I reply. “Someone was saying you’re making your Quidditch team choice based on what Alec tells you to do.”

But while I thought it was funny, Dom frowns in response.

“No, Dom wouldn’t ever accept any outside input on her Quidditch career choices,” Alec remarks, somewhat bitterly.

I think I’ve struck a nerve.

After a beat of awkward silence, Amelie asks someone to pass the bacon her way. It’s enough to bring the table back to normal, although I can’t pretend I’m not at least somewhat curious as to what that interaction was all about.

I make a mental note to gently prod her about it later. For now, I grab a few slices of toast, and look for the pot of blackberry jam, which happens to be sitting directly in from of James.

“James, can you pass me the jam?”

“Of course, love,” he responds automatically.

And then we both freeze, the pot of jam clattering to the table between us. Despite being a born-and-bred Brit, James doesn’t really use ‘love’ as a colloquial term – it’s actually been a very recent addition to his vocabulary. And while the use of the word is something incredibly minor, I can’t help but feel like it’s a painfully obvious giveaway.

I quickly grab what’s left of the spilled pot, muttering a ‘thank you’ and suddenly focusing  _very intently_ on spreading a perfectly even layer on my toast. I can almost feel the suspicious look that Dom’s no doubt giving me right now.

Looks like we’re both going to be attempting to pry information out of each other now.

 

* * *

 

Going on a date with James shouldn’t be as stressful as I’m making it out to be in my head.

I mean, the boy has seen me at my absolute lowest point. Not to mention we’ve been snogging for the past four months and hooked up at the start of term, so it’s not like any part of me is still a mystery to him at this point.

So why is it, then, that I cannot for the life of me decide what to wear?

It doesn’t help that James has given me absolutely no information about what exactly this date is supposed to consist of.

I grab a pair of jeans – the I-bought-these-for-myself-and-not-to-make-James-stare-at-my-bum ones – and a blue top. And then I throw the top back into my trunk. Too much blue in one outfit.

I’ve settled on the jeans though. I know James well enough that I’m pretty confident that his first date idea doesn’t involve anything incredibly formal. Especially because, well, it’s Hogwarts, and there’s not exactly a five-star restaurant hidden in the castle.

Eventually, I settle on a dark red top with a wide neck that drapes across my shoulders. Before I leave, I put my cloak on top – largely so that no one in the Ravenclaw common room will question why I’m dressed in Muggle clothes on a Monday evening.

I walk out of the Ravenclaw common room exactly at 8:00, the time James told me to meet him, but he isn’t anywhere to be seen.

Suddenly, I hear a rustling noise behind me. I jump, clasping a hand to my heart, and look back to see James leaning against the wall, invisibility cloak in hand.

“You scared me,” I tell him.

At that, James just laughs. “That’s at least half the fun of an invisibility cloak, love.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he replies. “But more importantly, are you ready for the best first date of your entire damn life?”

“Well,” I answer, grinning slightly, “the only other point of comparison I have is a dinner in the Great Hall when I was twelve because neither of us were old enough to go to Hogsmeade yet, so you’ve set yourself a very low bar there.”

“And to think the only standard I had to surpass was going somewhere that you don’t eat literally every other meal at,” James jokes.

“Well, I mean, to be fair, there aren’t many other options at Hogwarts.”

James grins. “And that’s exactly why  _we_ are leaving Hogwarts for the night.”

“We’re… leaving Hogwarts? How?”

James looks at me like I’ve just suggested that Hufflepuff is a shoo-in for the Quidditch Cup. “Really, Abby? You’re asking a bloke who owns an invisibility cloak, an enchanted map of Hogwarts, and who once took you to the Shrieking Shack via tunnel how we’re getting out of Hogwarts for the night?”

In retrospect, I don’t know why I asked that question.

“Alright, get under,” James tells me, pulling the cloak over his head again.

I follow suit, and let him lead the way. Near Wright’s classroom, James pulls the cloak off and takes his wand out.

“Dissendium,” he murmurs, tapping a statue. I know better than to question that at this point.

Sure enough, the statue opens up to reveal a small entryway. It looks like we have to slide down it, so I’m suddenly immensely grateful that I chose to wear a pair of jeans for this particular date night.

Once we’re both walking through the passageway, I turn to James. “So where does this one lead?”

“Originally, it led to the basement of Honeydukes,” James answers, “but when Teddy was here, he created another version that leads to a clearing just outside of Hogsmeade. It’s a good Apparating point.”

“So I take it we’re not going to the Three Broomsticks for our date then?”

James gives me an incredulous look. “Merlin, no. I can take you out to a normal dinner any old time. I want this night to be memorable.”

“Okay then,” I say. It’s still surprising to me when James says anything that could be even remotely perceived as romantic, even if he usually does it by accident.

“Just so you know,” I hear James’ voice from behind a few moments later, “I’m a big fan of this new jeans obsession you’ve got going on. Your ass looks great in them.”

And the romantic moment is over. Although I can’t pretend I’m not secretly pleased by his comment, because I just  _knew_ he’d be a fan of these.

“Oi, isn’t this supposed to be a ‘first date’? Because, last I checked, that’s not typically the type of thing you say to a girl you’re trying to woo,” I tease.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” James replies sarcastically. “Would you prefer if I just stared at your ass while you weren’t looking and  _didn’t_  say anything to acknowledge it like most blokes do on a first date?”

I laugh, starting to see the end of the tunnel ahead of us. “Fair enough."

“So, where are we off to?” I ask, as soon as my shoes make contact with the grass.

“It’s a surprise,” James answers. And with little warning, he grabs my hand and I feel the familiar pull in my stomach as we Apparate away.

When I open my eyes again, we’re in an alley. From the general noise of the area, I can only guess that we’re in London.

I say as much to James, who confirms my suspicions. “There’s a specific place I had in mind here,” he tells me.

He’s still holding onto my hand, so I walk alongside him as he leads the way out of the alleyway and onto the busy sidewalk. We walk a short way up the street, and suddenly James stops in front of a flashy-looking building.

I stare up at the neon sign, my eyes instantly snapping to the phrase ‘arcade restaurant.’ That’s a new one.

“My dad used to take us here all the time when we were younger,” James explains, squeezing my hand.

I hum in agreement, which is a much less emotional response than the one going on in my head. On the inside, I’m melting just a little, because not only is this place so  _James_ , but it also clearly means something to him and that makes it all the more special.

His words tumble out with no pause for breath. “I know it’s kind of unorthodox, but I figured, hey,  _we’re_ kind of unorthodox and it seemed more fun than just sitting across a table from you all night because I’ve been doing that at the library all fucking year, and I know you’re more of a classy candlelit dinner type of bird but – ”

“James,” I say, effectively silencing him, “it’s perfect.”

He’s suddenly grinning like a kid in Honeydukes.

We go inside, and James is clearly well-prepared for this, because he already has Muggle cash ready that he exchanges for game tokens.

We spend the next few hours bouncing from machine to machine. I find a side-by-side racing game, and James is all too eager to take me up on that challenge… until he loses three times in a row, that is.

“The machines were rigged,” he argues, as we look for a new game.

“James,” I tell him, “I literally drive a car all the time on holidays. I have  _way_ more practice at that than you do. Not to mention, that’s also probably the  _only_ game I’ll beat you at tonight.”

He seems to take comfort in that. We then manage to find a game where you play as the Muggle football equivalent of a Keeper, and James is, naturally, completely enamoured.

“These nets are so small! They’re so easy to block!” The game requires the player to actually move like a goalie, so he’s yelling this to me as he jumps in the direction of the most recent kick.

“Yes, well you can’t exactly fly to protect these goalposts, now can you?” I’m sitting on the floor, neatly folding up the veritable ton of tickets James has managed to win on this game.

“Or Quidditch just requires far more athletic prowess than this,” James responds. He’s about as giddy as I’ve ever seen him – drunk James included – and it’s just… it’s really nice. There’s something immensely liberating about not worrying about what fresh information the Hogwarts rumour mill or the  _Prophet_ is going to crank out.

After a few more rounds of the goalie game, we find our jackpot. It’s this complicated spinning wheel game that requires you to pull a lever and push a button at the same time to make the wheel stop. I handle the lever and James gets the button, which is probably considered cheating of some sort, and we manage to score the maximum number of points on our second try. And our fifth. And our seventh.

By the time we’ve run out of game tokens, we have a ridiculous pile of tickets. The first cluster is neatly folded, but I gave up on that process a while ago, so James is carrying a tangled mass of paper in his hands.

“I’d say we make a damn good team, wouldn’t you?” James says, laughing as he tries to avoid tripping over a strip of tickets that has swung loose.

I bump him with my hip. “A great one, if you ask me.”

Once one of the employees has calculated our total and handed us a voucher, we walk up to the prize booth.

“Alright, how about this,” I say. “We split the total and each get to pick some sort of cheesy memento of this date.”

“I mean, I was just going to let you pick something,” James replies.

“Okay, but what on earth am I going to do with,” I scan the shelves for something close to our current ticket value, “a neon karaoke machine… at a school that hates all electronics?”

James shrugs. “Fair point. Alright, so we split it and each get something dumb. What are you going to get with yours?”

I look up and down the walls, which are covered with garish stuffed Muggle cartoon characters. and weird gadgets. There’s absolutely nothing here that I’ll get any practical use out of, so I figure I’ll just go as ridiculous as I can.

“That.” I point at a stuffed animal on the back wall.

The arcade employee has clearly been listening to our conversation, because he immediately goes to grab it off the back wall.

“A pink lion?” James asks. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Well, your Patronus is a lion,” I answer, “and if you recall, I definitely dyed your hair pink at the beginning of this year.”

“Fuck, I’d almost forgotten about that,” he laughs. “That was a good look on me, honestly. Maybe I’ll bring it back at some point.”

“Merlin, please don’t.”

“Yeah, I think my natural colour is definitely much more flattering.”

I roll my eyes at him. “You’re lucky I’m not dating you for your humility.”

At this point, the employee has returned with my stuffed lion, and is regarding us with an expression of thinly-veiled impatience.

“Right, er, can I get that drinking game up there?” James points at some game box with a ridiculously offensive title.

“Oh Godric, what the hell does that have to do with being a cheesy memento?”

“It doesn’t,” James grins. “But don’t tell me you won’t be reminded of tonight every time I pull this out when we’re all drinking.”

I shrug. “Fair point.”

“Not to mention,” James adds, as we’re walking away from the counter, “if you think about it, drinking and inappropriate comments are technically what started this relationship in the first place.”

When we get into the alleyway, I stuff both of our prizes into my bag, before letting James take my hand again and Apparate us back to Scotland.

We make quick work of the passage back to school, and I’m pretty sure it’s because James wants to snog in a classroom before calling it a night. He’s pretty predictable in that sense.

Although, then again, that’s also what I’d like to do as soon as we get back, so I can’t fault him for it.

As soon as we get out of the statue, James throws the Invisibility Cloak over both of us. It’s good timing too, because a pair of Prefects – neither of whom I actually know – round the corner a few moments later.

Once we’re alone again, James is bringing his lips down to meet my own and we’re back in that rhythm we know so well.

Still under the Cloak, we all but tumble into the nearest classroom. James’ hand is sliding into the back pocket of my jeans and I’m leaning into him and pushing him up against the wall, because I just can’t get enough of him.

And then James pulls away, putting a finger to my lips before I can say anything. His eyes are wide and he’s watching something above my head. It only takes me a few moments to figure out why: we’re not alone.

“Why’d that door just open?” Dom asks.

“I dunno, that was weird,” Alec replies. “Probably Peeves or something.”

Then he pulls out his wand. “Colloportus.”

I hear the door lock, and  _shit_ , we’re stuck in here. I try my hardest to breathe silently, which is no easy task given that I’m somewhat out of breath from the beginnings of a snog session.

“ _Anyways_ , as I was saying,” Dom starts, “I don’t understand why you’re being like this. We knew this wasn’t going to last beyond graduation.”

“But it doesn’t have to be like that,” Alec fires back, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. “There’s so many Quidditch teams in Greece! And you won’t even  _consider_ them!”

“Because playing for the English National Team has been my dream since I first learned how to fly a toy broomstick! And I can’t very well play for them if I’m not on a fucking English Quidditch team!”

“But you could play for the Greek National Team! I don’t understand what’s so fucking special about the English team,” Alec responds bitterly.

“I’m  _not_ giving up my dreams for a relationship that hasn’t even lasted a full year yet,” Dom  says, with as much harshness as I’ve ever heard from her. “I wouldn’t dare ask you to give up your fancy Grecian Runes job for me, so it’s awfully fucked up of you to ask the same of me.”

I lock eyes with James, who looks just as startled to have accidentally stumbled into this argument as I feel.

“That’s different, and you know it. There’s nothing like that here in Britain, but there are Quidditch teams all over the world.”

 “I don’t care, Alec,” Dom replies. “I’m staying in England, where my friends and my family and my best hopes at a Quidditch career are. We’ve talked about this so many fucking times, I don’t understand why you keep getting so pissed off about it. When we got back together, I  _told you_ we were doing it with the understanding that it can’t last past graduation.”

“Well pardon me for thinking that maybe you’d eventually realize you loved me back and you’d want to stay together!” Alec seethes. “Fucking dammit, Dom, I love you too much for this.”

He turns and kicks a desk, and it clatters to the floor loudly.

Even from here, pressed against James in a way that affords me little view of the arguing couple, I can tell that there are tears running down Dom’s face. Her voice betrays it. “I love you too, you know. But that doesn’t change anything – it can’t. I’ve told you that.”

Alec sighs, pulling out his wand and righting the desk. “I just… fuck, I wish it would, you know? Change things, I mean.”

“I’d be lying if I said it was an easy decision,” Dom says, reaching out to grab Alec’s hand. He pulls it away. “But I have to do what’s best for me.”

“Yeah, I know. That’s what I’m doing too. It just sucks – it honest-to-Godric really fucking sucks.”

 Dom laughs through her tears. “It does. It really, really sucks.”

They’re quiet for a few moments. “Goodnight, Alec,” Dom says eventually. She’s apparently decided that this argument of theirs isn’t going to get anywhere tonight.

She closes the gap between them and kisses him on the cheek. And this time, he doesn’t pull away.

It’s not until Dom’s halfway out the door that Alec gets out his response.  “Goodnight, Dom.”

It feels like an eternity before Alec leaves the classroom as well, and I realize that my heart has been pounding in my chest this entire time.

James breaks the silence. “Holy shit,” he says, pulling the Invisibility Cloak off of the both of us.

I take a step back, breathing in fresh air. “Merlin, you can say that again.”

“I had a feeling that there’s been something off between the two of them for a while now, but… fuck, that was intense.” James actually picked up on something relationship-related? That’s something akin to a miracle.

I’d comment on that, but my mind is suddenly occupied by something else. Dom’s behavior from this morning makes sense now.

“I should probably go talk to her,” I tell James. “She’s probably headed to Ravenclaw Tower, and even if she doesn’t want to tell me what’s wrong, I should at least be there for her.”

James hums in agreement.

I instantly feel a little guilty. “I’m sorry for ruining whatever else you had planned for tonight.”

“I didn’t have anything else planned,” he replies. “I just figured we’d snog for a little bit longer and call it a night.”

 “Well good, because that’s a thing we can do anytime. I’ll give you a raincheck, yeah?”

“I’ll definitely hold you to that one.” James is grinning at me.

I go up on my toes to give him a kiss. It’s just a peck – anything more than that is too much  of a test of my self control, and I should really be going. “Thanks for tonight, by the way. Best first date by far.”

“I love you.”

Merlin, I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing him say that.

“Love you too,” I tell him, before taking off to go find my distraught best friend.

 

* * *

 

 

At breakfast the next morning, I take the seat next to James. Maybe if I’m right next to him, we’ll avoid any awkward jam-spilling encounters.

I’ve only just reached for the coffee when a slip of paper slides onto my plate – and onto the plates of everyone around me as well. I know what it is before I open it.

 

_Intervention_

_Tonight, 8:00 p.m._

_Room of Requirement_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't seen it yet, I uploaded a one-shot called Simplification (get it, because this story's called Complicated?) that's from James' POV that kind of spans the events of chapters 38-40. If you've been at all curious about James' thoughts throughout the story, go read it!! (shameless self-promo)
> 
>  
> 
> Sneak peek of chapter 43…
> 
> “That was… not the anticipated reaction,” Al comments.
> 
> “Wasn’t the biggest concern that they’d both start acting all awkward and avoid the subject?” I think that’s Roxanne talking now, but I can’t tell.
> 
> “Yeah, can one of you explain why you’re both acting like you got hit with a well-placed Rictusempra?” Fred adds.


	43. Complication #43

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s all too easy to misinterpret a situation when you’re looking at it from the outside.

“Looks like there’s going to be two interventions in as many days,” James says under his breath, nudging me.

I briefly wonder what this one’s about – not a single person at the table has given any indication that they know who or what the subject is, which is a bit surprising for a group as expressive as ours. Unless, of course, none of them actually know.

Instead of spending too much time thinking about it, I resume serving myself breakfast. There’s been a borderline-excessive amount of Potter/Weasley gossip circulating the halls of Hogwarts lately, so there’s no shortage of potential intervention topics. The fact that Lily is dating a guy who’s cheated on her before, Al and Cecile’s weird behavior, or even Dom and Alec’s argument last night – although how anyone else would know about that last one is beyond me.

Well, no one could argue that this family isn’t interesting, that’s for sure.

 

* * *

 

Perhaps my suspicions should’ve been first aroused when Dom and Caroline didn’t come back to the dormitory with me after dinner. At the time, I assumed they were going to the library or something.

When I end up making my way to the Room of Requirement alone, that’s when I first get a bit skeptical.

I instantly start running through any possible thing James and I could’ve done that gave us away. Did someone see us walking around the grounds on Sunday night? Or somehow notice our absence from the castle last night and put two-and-two together?

All I can hope for is that if we have been caught, it’s only James’ family that knows and not the entire school. Even though the secrecy thing was James’ idea originally, I think I’ve become a bit attached to keeping things mum for a bit as well.

Those suspicions are confirmed when I round the corner to face the Room of Requirement and find James standing against the wall opposite. Other than him, the corridor is completely empty.

“Looks like we’ve been found out,” he says, as soon as he notices that it’s me. “No one’s been by here for the past five minutes, so it looks like this intervention is about us.”

Bugger. Well, as long as his family’s the only people that know, it doesn’t matter much anyways. They were going to find out in a day anyways.

“Well, the secrecy was nice while it lasted,” I reply. “Although truly, I thought we could at least last longer than 48 hours.”

“We managed snogging for three months without hardly anyone finding out, and we drop the ball on us dating in two days,” James laughs, before reaching up and nervously messing with his hair.

After I pace in front of the blank wall, the door appears, and I follow James in. Sure enough, the entire rest of the family is already here and all eyes are on us.

I can’t decide whether being the subject of a Potter/Weasley intervention fills me with excitement or dread.

“I just want to say,” Dom announces, as soon as she sees me, “that I had absolutely nothing to do with this and I still think it’s a bad idea.”

And now I’m a little confused.

“Majority rules, Dom,” Fred says in response, before fixing his attention on me and James.

“So, what is this about?” James asks, feigning ignorance.

“This is about the fact that you two desperately need to sort out your shit.”

I look at Freddy, still lost. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean,” he sighs, as if I’ve just asked an incredibly stupid question, “that you two have been making fucking doe-eyes at each other nonstop since we got back from break and it’s  _nauseating_. Seriously, it’s obvious to literally all of us but you two that you both like each other, so since neither of you seem to be capable of acting on it, consider this your friendly nudge to handle your own damn feelings.”

I catch James looking at me out of the corner of his eye, and suddenly, we’re both laughing hysterically. The situation, objectively, isn’t even  _that_ funny, but it doesn’t stop me from doubling over and laughing so hard that tears form in the corners of my eyes.

I just…  _Merlin_. Here James and I were, convinced that we’d somehow blown our cover in some way and were about to get called out for it, and instead, it appears we’ve done our job a bit too well.

Well, minus the ‘doe-eyes’ bit, apparently.

“That was… not the anticipated reaction,” Al comments.

“Wasn’t the biggest concern that they’d both start acting all awkward and avoid the subject?” I think that’s Roxanne talking now, but I can’t tell.

“Yeah, can one of you explain why you’re both acting like you got hit with a well-placed Rictusempra?” Fred adds.

I finally catch my breath again, and look up at the room full of people, all of whom are regarding me and James with what can only be described as complete bewilderment.

“Because,” James answers with a smirk, “to use your words, we’ve already got our shit sorted.”

“You…  what?”

“You ruined our perfect announcement plan,” I tell Fred, grinning. “Although really, you just saved us from calling an intervention ourselves.”

Fred doesn’t quite put the pieces together, but Simon does. “You mean to say you two are together now?”

“It was a rather recent development, but yeah, we are,” I answer.

“See? This is why you don’t meddle, you dumbarse.” Caroline elbows her boyfriend. “James and Abby were perfectly capable of sorting things out themselves.”

“Merlin, now I’m  _especially_  glad we didn’t go with your original idea,” Simon says, looking at Fred. When I give him a confused look, he answers my unasked question. “Fred’s original plan was to get the room to conjure a broom closet so you two could sort out your shit that way.”

“And that plan got vetoed immediately because multiple people pointed out that you would absolutely lose your fucking mind about being stuck in a broom closet,” Louis adds, looking at me and stretching his long legs across Simon’s lap.

Good to know everyone here knows me well.

“Not to mention that putting them in a broom closet wouldn’t exactly force them to  _talk_  about their feelings, and they’ve been snogging for months anyways,” Dom chimes in, looking entirely too casual given the bomb she’s just dropped.

Approximately half the room looks at her in shock, and there’s an echo of “ _What_?”

Fred is, perhaps, the most surprised of anyone. “Wait, what the hell? Why did you not say anything about that during the briefing?”

Dom rolls her eyes. “Because, unlike  _some people_ , I actually respect people’s privacy and stay out of business that I’ve been explicitly told not to meddle in.”

“Oi,  _I_ was never given any explicit directions to stay out of anything,” Fred retorts.

I’m almost afraid this will shift into an actual argument between Dom and Fred, but someone else interrupts and prevents that from happening.

“At least none of you have actually had to witness them snogging,” Lily says with a smirk. “I will never be able to forget the image of my brother practically having sex in the middle of the Gryffindor Common Room. Let me tell you, it’s rather nauseating.”

I cover my face with my hands at that, concealing the furious blush creeping its way up my face. It seems that this has now turned into an unspoken contest of who can share the most scandalous piece of information about me and James.

“Yes, Lil, thanks for that contribution,” James replies sarcastically, as someone – probably Fred, honestly – wolf-whistles.

“Anytime, brother dearest.”

“So if the whole point of this intervention was to get Abby and James together, and turns out they’re  _already_ together, does that mean we’re done here?” Rose asks. “I mean, as much as I’m enjoying watching everyone take the mickey out of both of them, I have a lot of reading to do.”

Fred shrugs. “Yeah, pretty much. Motion to dismiss?”

Before anyone can respond, James yells over all of them. “Not yet!”

Suddenly, the room is silent again.

“The whole reason we hadn’t told any of you yet – and the reason we haven’t exactly been obvious about any of it – is that we agreed to keep it quiet for now. Save ourselves from the  _Prophet_ and shit for a little bit,” James says. “So this news does not leave this room. Got it?”

There’s a completely unsynchronized chorus of “got it!”

“Then we’re finished here. Motion to dismiss?"

This time, everyone’s in time. “Dismissed!”

And the single weirdest ten minutes of my life has officially come to a close.

 

* * *

 

The girls descend on me almost immediately after we walk out of the Room of Requirement. I barely have time to reach out and give James’ hand a squeeze before Caroline and Molly are practically dragging me down the corridor.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Dom asks. I’m instantly analyzing her tone for a sign of either anger or disappointment, but I think she’s actually just curious.

“I wouldn’t have outright lied to you if you’d asked,” I answer. “I just… it took James and I a moment to even figure out we were telling people. But we were planning on it tomorrow night, I promise.”

“I wasn’t asking you because you’d said you didn’t want to talk about it when I brought it up over break!” Dom exclaims.

I turn around and mouth a ‘goodnight’ at James, who it appears has been watching us with significant amusement, before we round the corner.

“I mean, to be fair, we literally got together less than three days ago.”

“Yeah, I’m curious,” Molly asks. “How exactly did that happen?”

As we start climbing the stairs, I try to think of the best way to explain it. “Well, Dom and Caroline know this part, but yeah, James and I had been snogging for a while and then right before Easter hols, I ended up telling him I was in love with him.”

“The way you told the story that night, I’m pretty sure you actually  _yelled_ it at him,” Caroline  supplies.

I laugh – I can look back at that night and think it’s funny now, even though it definitely was not at the time. “Yeah, I kind of did. And I’d asked him to come as my date to my dad’s wedding long before that ever happened, and the wedding itself was the last Saturday of hols. I wasn’t expecting him to show up, but he did.”

“And then he told you how much he cared about you and swept you off your feet and danced the night away?” Amelie asks, a hopeful tone in her voice.

“You clearly have far too high of expectations for James’ romancing abilities,” Dom shoots back immediately.

“Not… exactly,”  I answer, fighting off another laugh. “More like he awkwardly danced around the subject for a few hours – “

“Now  _that_ sounds like the cousin I know.”

“ – but by the end of the night he showed up at my door and launched into this whole speech to tell me he loved me.”

“You have to admit, even  _that_ is impressive for James,” Molly says, looking at Dom.

“It sounds like something out of a damn Fifi LaFolle novel,” Amelie contributes. I can tell she’s determined to make this into more of a fairytale than it really is.

“But with much more swearing,” I amend.

Molly and Amelie walk with Dom, Caroline, and I to Ravenclaw Tower. Our current topic of conversation dies down as soon as we walk through the Common Room – instead, Molly deflects and starts talking about N.E.W.T. study schedules.

But as soon as we’re up in the dormitory and have a  _Muffliato_ cast on the area around us, it’s right back to talking about boys.

“So clearly I’ve been caught up in my own drama, but how are things with Davies?” I choose to ask Molly about her relationship instead of asking Dom about hers.

Dom wasn’t exactly willing to discuss why she was in such a bad mood last night, so I doubt she’ll be any more willing to talk about it tonight.

“They’re… fine, I guess,” Molly answers.

“That doesn’t sound very confident,” Dom replies.

Molly lets out a frustrated sigh. “I don’t know, I just – I don’t really think it’s going to work out with us. Like, I like him well enough, but I don’t think I want to stay with him for the long-term. But I also don’t want to break up with him now, you know? We still have to be Heads together for the next two months.”

It strikes me that Dom and Molly are basically experiencing the exact opposite problem. Molly doesn’t want her relationship to last past graduation even though there’s nothing stopping it, and Dom wants hers to last even though it can’t.

How’s that for irony?

I think Dom recognizes that as well, because I notice that she frowns slightly.

“That’s hard,” Caroline says sympathetically. “Because yeah, that’s awkward, but it’s also not fair to be leading him on for another two months.”

“This is why they considered banning Heads from dating one another in our fifth year.”

“No,” Dom says, snapping out of her funk, “they considered banning Heads from dating one another because Sprout accidentally walked in on Matthews and Selwyn shagging in the Prefect’s bathroom.”

“Oh Merlin, that actually happened?” Caroline asks. We’d heard rumours, but it was never confirmed.

“Yep, apparently,” Dom answers.

“So how are you and Alec?” Amelie asks.

Dom sighs, and reaches up to tighten her ponytail. “We’re… working through some stuff. I can talk about it when it’s not so fresh, but now’s not really a good time, I don’t think.”

All four of us instantly move to make some gesture of comfort, which means Dom gets four sympathetic hand pats, followed by a giant group hug when we all realize how awkward that was.

By the time we’re all sitting in our own spaces again, Dom’s eyes are a bit glassy but we’re all laughing. It’s moments like this that I’m so grateful for these girls. Even though the other two people that live in this dormitory made me feel like my life was over earlier this year, the four girls in front of me made my life ten times better instead.

Dom wipes at the corners of her eyes. “Getting away from that topic… Caroline, tonight apparently seems to be the night to check in on everyone’s relationships, so what’s up with you and Freddy? And Merlin,  _please_  don’t be having issues – I really think Molly and I have enough for all five of us right now.”

Caroline giggles. “No, we’re not having issues. We’re really fucking good, honestly. I never thought I’d say these words seriously, but Freddy’s actually a surprisingly good boyfriend?”

“Fucking bless,” Dom responds. “At least one of us has a nice, normal, functional relationship right now.”

She pauses for a moment. “I guess technically Abby has one of those as well, but honestly, the process of you and James getting there was so fucking convoluted that you two don’t get to be called ‘normal’ for a while.”

“Fair enough, honestly,” I tell her.

“So, Molly,” Caroline says, a mischievous grin spreading across her face, “this now means that both James and Freddy are currently in committed relationships. Weirdest day of your life, yes or no?”

Caroline gets a pillow thrown at her face for that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneak peek of chapter 44…
> 
> “What’s the final product of Amortentia supposed to look like?”
> 
> “Mother-of-pearl sheen, spiraling steam, and scent that varies based on what you’re attracted to,” I rattle off.
> 
> “So basically your Amortentia would smell like me,” James replies, sounding awfully proud of that fact.
> 
> “You’re so full of yourself,” I tell him, rolling my eyes. “When you add the Stewed Mandrake, what colour does a Volubilis Potion turn?”
> 
> “Er, orange? No, blue, I think,” he answers. “Dammit, I gave you an easy one and you responded with that – no fair!”


	44. Complication #44

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Complication #44: You never know what you’ll find in the halls of Hogwarts at night.
> 
> Content warning – mention of a miscarriage

As I’ve discovered, the use of the phrase “nastily exhausting” in the N.E.W.T. acronym is no joke. I’ve been attempting to keep up with the revision schedule Molly and I came up with, and it’s been a rare night that I’ve gotten more than four hours of sleep this past week.

I don’t know how James is doing it, because he’s also been holding Quidditch practices almost every other day to prepare for the final.

We spend a lot of time in the library together, the only real difference from before we started dating being that we both sit on the same side of the table now, because the empty History of Magic section is just about the only place where we can actually be… well,  _us_.

Right now, James has one of my legs pulled across his own, and he’s absentmindedly fiddling with the hem of my skirt as we quietly quiz each other on Potions.

“What’s the final product of Amortentia supposed to look like?”

“Mother-of-pearl sheen, spiraling steam, and scent that varies based on what you’re attracted to,” I rattle off.

“So basically your Amortentia would smell like me,” James replies, sounding awfully proud of that fact.

“You’re so full of yourself,” I tell him, rolling my eyes. “When you add the Stewed Mandrake, what colour does a Volubilis Potion turn?”

“Er, orange? No, blue, I think,” he answers. “Dammit, I gave you an easy one and you responded with that – no fair!”

I shrug, which I know only serves to make him even more annoyed.

“What’s the answer though?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I tell him, ignoring his scandalised look. “I’ll look it up and let you know.”

“Oi!”

I grin and start flipping through  _Advanced Potion-Making_ , trying to find the answer to my own question.

“So, your birthday’s next week,” James says, and it’s just far enough off-topic that I look up from the textbook.

“That it is.”

“So how are you planning on celebrating?”

I’ve never really been a big ‘birthday’ person – not in the way that James and Freddy are at least – so it hasn’t exactly been at the forefront of my mind. “I don’t want a huge party, if that’s what you’re asking.”

James chuckles. “No, I didn’t think you would.”

I think about it for a moment. “I’d be fine with something small, if anything at all. You know, just the girls and your friends – Simon can bring Lou if he wants, and Molly can bring…” I trail off, remembering our conversation from last week. “Never mind.”

“Why wouldn’t Molly bring Davies?” James asks, having predicted where my sentence would’ve gone had I not cut myself off.

“They’re having… issues, I guess,” I answer truthfully.

“Like, Dom and Alec-level issues?”

The exact opposite of Dom and Alec issues, really. “Er, different issues.”

James acts like this information is totally sufficient. “Ah.”

I turn back to  _Advanced Potion Making_ , trying to find the chapter on Volubilis Potion.

“Can we go fly?” he asks abruptly.

I can tell he’s on edge – I mean, both of us are, really – and a bit restless at this point. A break would probably be good for both of us. “Yeah, let’s go.”

I don’t think I’ve ever seen James pack up his things quite so fast.

 

* * *

 

Flying does wonders. I didn’t realize how much tension I’ve been carrying in my shoulders until I get airborne. And if I’m feeling relaxed, that’s nothing compared to James, who’s positively giddy. If I didn’t know just how much nervous energy he had before we got out here, I’d be seriously concerned about the fact that he’s currently flying around and laughing like a 6-year-old who’s been given Elixir to Induce Euphoria.

I weave around one of the hoops, and James is just doing repeated sloth rolls – how he hasn’t gotten too dizzy and fallen off his broom is a mystery.

After we’ve both worked out all our extra nerves, the evening culminates with James dragging me behind the stands for a quick snog.

Clearly, dating James isn’t all that different from casually snogging him. Although, I suppose, that may change once the whole school finds out about us.

But for now, we’ve got a good thing.

“So, I was thinking,” he says after we break apart, “maybe you could come stay in my room tonight?”

I freeze. I knew James was going to start pushing for this eventually. “James, I told you, I’m not – “

He interrupts me, taking a step backwards with a concerned frown. “Oh shit, no, that’s not what I meant. I just thought – well, I thought, er, maybe we could…”

He suddenly looks a bit bashful, and I realize what he’s asking. “James Potter, are you trying to say you want to  _cuddle_?” I tease.

“Maybe,” he says, and I can’t help but laugh.

“You’re hopeless.”

“So that’s a yes then?” he asks.

This, coming from the boy who once said dates were only good for the snog at the end. I think I’ve officially broken James Potter and turned him soft.

“It is,” I tell him. “Let’s go – I’m getting cold out here, and rumour has it the Gryffindor bedding is extra plush.”

It takes us a moment to remember where we stashed our school bags, so we’re pushing curfew as we head back to the castle. James hands me the Invisibility Cloak, seeing as I wouldn’t exactly be about to get into Gryffindor without it, and I pull it on top of me.

If anyone saw us right now, they’d think James is having a conversation with himself. But, of course, it’s almost curfew and there’s no one on the grounds.

The Entrance Hall is similarly empty, and it’s not until we’re heading up the main staircase that we hear any signs of another person.

At first glance, the figure on the floor looks like James. And honestly, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s literally standing next to me, I’d probably think it’s him sitting there, knees pulled into his chest.

James figures it out before I do. “Shit, what’s Al doing down here?”

He starts walking towards his brother, so I follow suit, pulling the Cloak off as I do. As we get closer, I realize that Al’s shoulders are shaking – I think he might be crying.

“Al?”

The boy in question picks up his head from its place in between his knees. Even in the low lighting, the tear tracks down his cheeks are unmistakable.

James drops to his knees in front of Al. “Al, what’s wrong?”

“It’s – it’s Cecile,” he forces out.

You’ve  _got_  to be kidding me. How is it that the moment James and I get our relationship together, everyone else’s falls apart? If it weren’t so completely inappropriate for the situation, I’d laugh out loud at the absurdity.

“She’s – fuck, this is all so fucked up.”

James sits down in front of Al. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Al drops his head into his hands. “She’s pregnant. Well, she was.”

Oh shit. That is… definitely not what I expected him to say.

James is similarly stunned. “What?”

Al looks back up. “She found out a couple weeks ago – Mum and Dad are the only other people who know. And apparently she started feeling weird at lunch today but didn’t really think anything of it, until an hour or so ago when… and as soon as she told me, I took her straight to the Hospital Wing, but – “

A fresh tear falls down Al’s cheek. “It was too late. She lost the –  _we_  lost the baby.”

James doesn’t say anything, he just moves into the space next to his brother and wraps an arm around his shoulders.

Al leans into his brother. “I just…  _f-fuck_ , from the moment Ce told me she was pregnant, I kept wishing it hadn’t happened. I just wanted to make it… disappear or something. But I never – I never wanted  _this_.”

Al breaks down again, suddenly looking so much younger than 17. My heart breaks at the sight of him.

The look on James’ face confirms that he feels the same.

“A-and now Madame Abbott won’t even let me stay in the Hospital Wing with her tonight, and she couldn’t even  _look_ at me after we… after we found out, and I just – I don’t know what to do.” He takes a deep, shaky breath. “I love her so much, but… but what if we don’t make it through this?”

I find my voice for the first time since we got here. “Al, you and Cecile have something really special, you know that, right?” I sit down on his other side. “Not many people find the love of their life at 14.”

Al looks over at me. “I love her so much it hurts,” he answers.

“I know you do. And she loves you. If anyone at this damn school can make it through something like this, it’s the two of you.”

In truth, I have no idea what it means to make it through finding out you’re going to be teenage parents and then finding out you… won’t be. But I feel like Al needs to hear  _something_  reassuring right now.

Al nods, and something in James switches him into responsible-older-brother mode.

“Let’s get you up to bed, yeah?” he says. “Sitting in an empty corridor won’t do you any good, and you can go find Cecile first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Okay,” Al replies, sounding so defeated and overwhelmed all in that one word that my heart breaks for him a second time.

He lets James pull him up to standing, and almost immediately leans his weight into his brother. It’s clear that the emotional stress has taken a toll on him.

I automatically assume that I’ll be going back to Ravenclaw tonight instead – this seems to take priority over any existing plans – so I go to hand James the Cloak. He gives me a strange look when I do so.

“I’ll meet you in my room,” he mouths, before saying out loud, “Al and I can’t both fit under there anyways.”

“I – okay,” I answer. Apparently, I assumed wrong; I guess, technically, James taking Al up to bed doesn’t actually conflict with me sleeping over anyways.

We start the climb to Gryffindor, James and Al walking in front while I follow them, invisible.

It strikes me, for the second time tonight, that James and Al are so similar they could almost be twins. Al is about an inch taller, and James is a bit broader-shouldered, but other than that, they’re exact replicas of one another.

The Common Room is relatively quiet when we get in – it’s mostly just seventh years studying by the fire. I spot all five of James’ dormmates among them. And luckily, everyone’s so engrossed in their studies that no one really looks long enough to realize that James is all but carrying Al up the stairs.

While James takes Al to the sixth year dormitory, I continue up the steps to his room. Once inside, I take off the Cloak and grab a T-shirt off the folded stack sitting by his trunk, before closing his bed hangings around me.

The door doesn’t open until a while later – and instead of being James, it’s all his dormmates. They make noisy work of getting ready for bed, but I go ahead and cast a Silencing Charm on the area around James’ bed for good measure.

Merlin, I just want James to get back already. I know he’s dealing with Al and that’s going to take some time, but it feels so incredibly awkward to just be sitting in his bed, hiding from his dormmates. To be honest, I don’t even get why James was so insistent that I still come up – this could’ve very easily waited for a different night.

Luckily, when the door opens a second time, it’s definitely James; I can tell based on the reactions of his friends alone.

“Looks like someone went flying tonight,” Alec says casually. He’s probably referring to the state of James’ hair.

“And probably a little more than flying,” Freddy adds, and I can tell he’s saying it with a massive smirk on his face.

“Perhaps,” is James’ response. I know he’s trying to force himself to keep up with their banter, but he sounds positively exhausted.

A few moments later, James ducks underneath his hangings, wearing only a pair of boxers. Almost instantly, he’s in the space beside me; when I lay down next to him, his arms wrap around me.

He pulls me closer to him, and for once, his hands don’t wander. Instead, it’s like he’s afraid that, if he lets go, I’ll disappear. I realize that perhaps the events of tonight hit him harder than I initially thought.

Al and Cecile’s child would’ve been his niece or nephew.

Not to mention that he had to witness his little brother in the most miserable state imaginable. Seeing Al like that was gut-wrenching enough for me; I can’t imagine what it felt like to James.

For all my selfish complaining about how this could wait for another night, it didn’t hit me that what happened tonight would mean James needed me here even more.

“You know,” James says eventually, so quiet I can barely hear it, “I always wondered if Al was ever going to do anything to fuck up his golden child status. But I never imagined anything quite like this.”

It’s perhaps not the most appropriate thing to say, given the gravity of the current situation. But before I can even think about commenting on that, James is talking again.

“I’m the big brother. This is supposed to be what I do best. I’m supposed to be the one that has all the experience and can give Al and Lily advice on all their issues. But this… I don’t even know. I can’t even imagine.”

It’s moments like this where I’m reminded that James is just inherently a genuinely  _good_  person. He may say and do dumb things at times, but it’s always with the purest of intentions. No matter what, he drops everything as soon as someone he cares about needs help. Although, come to think of it, he doesn’t even have to care about them to do that – the night Blaise broke up with me is evidence of that.

_Merlin_. Every time I think I couldn’t fall for him any more, he proves me wrong.

“For what it’s worth,” I reply, my voice slightly muffled by the fact that my head is against his chest, “I think you handled it well. Al and Lily are lucky to have you.”

“I’m doing my best,” he replies, and I think he’s at least a little comforted, because he starts to run one of his hands through my hair.

Curled up against him, our legs intertwined as he plays with my hair, I feel oddly at peace.

 

* * *

 

Waking up the next morning, on the other hand, is much less peaceful.

For starters, James is a veritable  _furnace_. That, combined with the fact that the Gryffindor blankets are in fact more plush than the Ravenclaw ones I’m used to, means I’m sweating profusely when I wake up.

There’s also the fact that being in a single bed doesn’t leave much room for movement, and James and I are somehow ridiculously tangled up in each other. One of my legs is hitched up over his hips, there’s an elbow digging into my stomach, and, judging by the spluttering noise he’s currently making, I’m pretty sure some of my hair found its way into James’ mouth.

“Next time we do this,” I say, looking up at James, “we’re doing it in a bigger bed.”

“Agreed.”

Once we’ve successfully disentangled ourselves, I push the hangings aside, looking for James’ Invisibility Cloak in the spot that I left it so that I can sneak out unnoticed.

I’m apparently not quite fast enough.

“Good morning.”

I whip my head in the direction of the voice, to find Simon watching me with a knowing look.

“You didn’t see me here,” I tell him. Honestly, if I had to pick one of the three boys to have caught me here, Simon would’ve been my pick – he’s the most likely to actually stay hush about it.

“I don’t see anything,” comes his reply.

“I knew I could count on you,” I say, purely for the sake of adding a bit of a guilt trip, before pulling the Cloak on and making my way out of the dormitory.

As soon as I get back to Ravenclaw Tower, I make a beeline for the shower. It’ll probably make me late to breakfast, but I feel disgusting, so it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.

By the time I’m ready, I’m  _definitely_ late to breakfast.

When I walk into the Great Hall, my first instinct is to look for Al. I see Rose and Scorpius sitting alone towards the end of the table, but no Al. I guess that’s to be expected – he probably took James’ words literally and went to go see Cecile first thing when he woke up.

The time I spend searching for Al means I don’t see the looks I’m getting from my friends until I’m sitting down next to them.

“Sleep well, Abby?” Freddy comments mildly, but the mischievous look in his eyes tells me he definitely knows something.

I round on the snitch. “ _Simon_!”

He throws his hands up in mock surrender. “I didn’t say anything! They figured it out!”

“You didn’t come back to the dorm last night,” Caroline says. “And it’s pretty obvious where you got off to.”

“And  _who_  got you off,” Alec adds, accompanied by a suggestive eyebrow raise. Dom reaches over and smacks him.

“Congratulations though, your Imperturbable is truly impeccable,” Freddy tells me. “Because I know for a fact James wasn’t the one who cast it – I was in the room next to him last Christmas hols and I’m scarred for life from it.”

James’ cheeks darken. “Shut  _up_.”

I suppose I  _could_  correct them, because their assumption that James and I had sex last night is wrong, but really, what’s the point? I mean, I wouldn’t lie about it if someone bothered to actually ask me – that’s already come back to bite me once before – but I don’t see any benefit in going out of my way to disprove their assumptions either.

We’re going to cross that bridge eventually anyways – and, at the rate things are going, it’ll probably be sooner rather than later.

While Fred mimics what I assume is supposed to be the girl James was sleeping with on that particular occasion – who was apparently much more, er,  _vocal_  than I’ve ever been – Dom turns to me, clearly over this particular topic of discussion.

“So Abby, your birthday’s coming up,” she says. “And it’s the Sunday after the last Ravenclaw match, so Merlin knows I’ll be ready to do something fun. Any ideas?”

Despite James bringing it up last night, I still haven’t given any thought to how I want to celebrate. I shrug. “The group of us and a couple bottles of elf-made wine?”

“You’re speaking my language now,” Amelie chimes in, grinning.

“We can break in the new drinking game!” James adds excitedly.

“What?”

“James and I went to an arcade last week,” I explain. “He used his share of the tickets to buy some drinking game, which is now apparently making its debut at my eighteenth.”

“Well I’m down for anything that involves alcohol and whole night of not studying, so I’m in,” Fred says.

Caroline pats him on the shoulder. “That’s cute that you thought you had a choice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneak peek of chapter 45…
> 
> Why do people care about my love life so much? And why am I always somehow painted as the one desperate to get at James? It was kind of funny the first few times, but now it’s infuriating.
> 
> When I get back to our table, I throw my books down a bit harder than entirely necessary, earning me startled looks from the other five occupants.
> 
> “I’m so fucking sick of Hogwarts gossip,” I huff.
> 
> “Damn, Abby, language,” Alec replies, grinning. I respond by glaring in his direction as I sit down. 
> 
> “What was it this time?” Caroline asks.


	45. Complication #45

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it’s easier to let people think what they want than to set the story straight.

Al and Cecile finally reappear at dinner that night. They both look a little worse for wear, but Al has his hand on the small of her back as they walk to a spot at the Gryffindor table.

James looks like he wants to run over to both of them, but thinks better of making a scene in the Great Hall.

Gryffindor has Quidditch practice tonight, so I imagine he’ll talk to Al after that.

When James, Freddy, and Simon head down to the Quidditch Pitch, us five girls and Alec go to the library.

It’s strange being in the library and  _not_  sitting in the History of Magic section, but Molly has a preference for this specific table that’s perfectly placed between Charms and Transfiguration, and I don’t argue with her selection.

I also like keeping my table in the History of Magic section a bit of a secret. It’s one of the few places in the castle where I’m guaranteed some quality alone time.

Well, except for James.

I’ve been meaning to find a specific book about human transfigurations, so I head straight to the bookshelves in search of it. The Hogwarts library is painfully unorganized – there’s some sort of system to the shelves that I don’t understand at all – so it takes quite a bit of scanning shelves to find what I’m looking for.

And just as I find the book I needed, I hear a conversation pipe up from the other side of the shelves.

I don’t recognize the voices, but my ears perk up automatically when I hear my name mentioned.

“ – Abby Winchester apparently tried to proposition James on the Quidditch pitch last week.”

And then someone else: “But he didn’t say yes, did he? I didn’t think he did relationships or, like, even hook-ups with Hogwarts girls in general.”

“Well they’re not together now, so I’m sure he turned her down,” the original voice answers. “Although, I dunno, maybe they’re just sleeping together at this point.”

I want nothing more than to walk around to the other side of the shelves and tell them just how wrong they are. But there’s a reason James and I decided not to go public just yet – I have to remind myself of that.

“It’s a shame, really,” a third voice chimes in. “She literally destroyed her own reputation to go after him and he doesn’t even want her. It’s – “

I don’t hear the rest of that sentence, because I’ve turned on my heel and walked out of the Transfiguration section as fast as possible. Some mixture of anger and hurt is bubbling up in my stomach, and I don’t trust myself to continue eavesdropping without doing something rash.

I just… I don’t get it. Why do people care about my love life so much? And why am I always somehow painted as the one desperate to get at James? It was kind of funny the first few times, but now it’s infuriating.

When I get back to our table, I throw my books down a bit harder than entirely necessary, earning me startled looks from the other five occupants.

 “I’m so fucking  _sick_ of Hogwarts gossip,” I huff.

“Damn, Abby,  _language_ ,” Alec replies, grinning. I respond by glaring in his direction as I sit down.

“What was it this time?” Caroline asks.

“Something about how I propositioned James last week and he turned me down.”

“That’s fucking ridiculous,” she answers, rolling her eyes. “Whoever started that rumour  _clearly_ wasn’t paying attention. James checks out your ass at least five times a day, and he doesn’t do that good a job of being inconspicuous about it either. There’s no way he’d turn down a proposition from you, even if you weren’t… you know.”

Alec starts to laugh, but quickly conceals it with a coughing fit – we’re within sight of the librarian, and getting kicked out of the library before N.E.W.T.s would be less than ideal.

“She’s not wrong,” Dom adds.

The weird feeling in my stomach starts to dissipate. It’s just rumours; it’s not reality. I just need to remind myself that, no matter what wild stories get made up about me or about my relationship, none of them are the truth.

I can’t let other people get into my head. Because not to mention, it’s probably only going to get worse once James and I start telling people we’re dating – if I can’t handle this, I’m sure as hell not going to be able to handle that.

After everything that’s happened this year, I  _refuse_ to let this be the thing that pushes me over the edge.

But despite that resolve, this whole incident has managed to completely put me off revision for the night. Which is incredibly frustrating, because it took me so long to find the stupid book I was going to use in the first place.

So instead of getting any real work done, I spend most of the next hour staring at the same page and absorbing absolutely nothing.

“Damn, Abby, what did  _Animagi and Other Human Transfigurations_ ever do to you?”

I jump, and look up to see Fred watching me, looking thoroughly entertained. Simon’s standing next to him, and it’s obvious they both came straight from practice.

How did I not notice them walk over?

I shrug. “Just can’t focus, that’s all.”

Amelie looks at me. “Are you really still that worked up about this?”

“About what?” Fred asks. He’s moved into the space behind Caroline’s chair, and is gently running his hands across her shoulders.

Caroline answers for me. “Abby overheard a couple of dumb pricks talking about some rumour that James rejected her.”

“And you’re mad about that because…? I mean, it’s obviously not true.”

“Yeah, I know that,” I reply, and my voice comes out snappier than I intended. I take a deep breath, and try again. “It’s just annoying, you know? That people keep making up lies about me.”

“You know what would fix that though?” Amelie says. “If you two actually told people you’re together.”

“ _Or_ , it’ll make everything ten times worse,” I add.

“Yeah, that’s also a possibility,” Simon concedes.

Amelie turns around and glares at him. “You’re not helping,” she says.

Simon shrugs. “I’m being realistic.”

I choose to ignore their bickering, and look over at Freddy. “Where’s James?”

“He said he had to get some logistical shit sorted out,” he answers. “Don’t worry, your lover boy will probably be coming this way soon.”

So my instinct was right; James probably  _is_  talking to Al after practice.

The group banter continues for a little while longer, earning us a number of shushes from the librarian (and even a few other students). We’ve finally all given up the pretense of studying and are all packing up our stuff by the time James shows up.

“Oh thank Merlin,” he says when he sees that we’re all getting ready to leave. “I really  _did not_ want to do revision tonight.”

“That sort of mindset won’t get you O’s on your N.E.W.T.s,” I say teasingly.

Never mind that I  _also_ didn’t get any revision done tonight. Just call me the poster child for hypocrisy.

“Hey, not all of us can be nerdy Ravenclaws,” James retorts, which isn’t his best idea given the number of Ravenclaws in the group he’s addressing.

“More like, not everyone can be a fucking genius.” Dom flips her ponytail for effect.

James rolls his eyes, clearly unable to come up with a decent response to that. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

As we walk out of the library, James’ hand finds my own. As everyone else turns to go  towards the main staircase, he moves in the opposite direction. And I follow.

“We’ll catch up with you lot later,” James says.

For the second time today, Freddy gives me a  _very specific_ smirk, and Alec even goes so far as to wolf-whistle.

I expect Dom to round on him for that, but instead, she joins in. “Use protection!”

Traitor.

I turn back to James, who’s regarding me curiously.

Once everyone’s out of earshot, he starts talking. But not about the topic I’d expected. “Why haven’t you corrected them?” he asks. “About, you know, us, and…”

“Because what’s the point?” I say. “If anyone bothered to actually ask, I wouldn’t lie, but like, why go out of my way? I mean, it’s bound to happen soon enough, anyways.”

James blinks. “Soon enough,” he repeats, and I can basically see the cogs in his brain spinning and trying to interpret what that means.

“And I’m sure you’re enjoying the boost to your reputation,” I add, ignoring his obvious thought process. “All your friends think you’re getting laid on the regular.”

He snorts. “Really, it wouldn’t matter if you told them all the truth.”

“Oh, yeah?” I say. “Then why didn’t  _you_ say anything?”

After a beat of silence, James concedes. “Fair point.”

“Anyways,” I say, changing the subject, “how’s Al?”

“He’s… managing,” James answers. “I think he’s trying to be strong for Cecile – she’s apparently been beating herself up over it because she’s convinced it’s somehow her fault even though it was just, like, a freak thing – but he’s… he’s not himself, really. He owled Mum and Dad about it, and I think they’re going to try to help. I think Mum knows someone who helps people deal with this kind of stuff professionally.”

“Well, that’s good,” I say. Merlin knows none of us are qualified to be of any use.

James stops in his tracks. “It’s all just… it’s all so surreal, you know? And I know this is all sorts of self-centred, because it was Al’s baby, not mine, but like… I was almost an uncle. Which is… fucking insane to think about. But I shouldn’t even be thinking about that, when Al’s the one who’s so messed up right now.”

I turn to face him, grabbing both of his hands. “You’re allowed to think about those kinds of things. And Godric, James, don’t even  _try_  to call yourself self-centred. You’re the most selfless person I know.”

“Really?”

“Yes, James,” I sigh. “For Merlin’s sake, you didn’t even like me at the start of this year, yet you still spent like three hours trying to make me feel better after Blaise and I broke up.”

“Well, yeah, because it was partially my fault that you were in that situation to begin with,” James tries to argue.

“That’s rubbish, and you know it,” I retort. “What I  _chose_ to do was entirely my own fault. Yeah, you were involved, but I’m the one who made the choices that I did.”

“But – “

“Stop it,” I interrupt. “Seriously, James, I don’t know what to do with you right now – stop being so self-deprecating,  _please_.”

He doesn’t say anything in response; instead, he steps forward and wraps his arms around me. I do the same, resting my head against his shoulder.

I think about what I just said, and suddenly laugh. “You know, I never thought I’d have to tell you to be  _more_ arrogant about something.”

 

* * *

 

The Ravenclaw-Slytherin match proves to be a really good one – the score is tight the entire time, up until Andrew Bligh catches the Snitch and wins the match for Ravenclaw.

It’s sad to think that this is the last of my own House’s matches I’ll be able to watch. I never once thought I’d say this in a million years, but I’m going to miss Quidditch.

The morning after, however, is even more interesting. I’ve never been big into my own birthday - not even last year, when I officially became of age - but something about this one feels different.

First off, probably because Freddy screams, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY ABBY!” as soon as I walk into the Great Hall.

And then there’s James, who leans in to whisper, “Happy birthday, love,” when I take the seat next to him.

“Thank you,” I tell them both, feeling myself flush a little – and I honestly can’t tell if that’s from Freddy’s very public announcement or James’ very intimate one.

An owl drops a letter in front of me, and I stare at it for a long moment. I know that handwriting.

Eventually I cave, ripping it open and reading the letter inside.

 

_Abigail dearest,_

_Happy birthday, darling! I hope you have a lovely day._

_I heard from a colleague that you’ve accepted a position with the Auror department. That’s wonderful – I always knew you’d excel in the Ministry. I do wish you’d told me you were applying though; I could’ve pulled some strings to get you into a higher-paying contract –_

 

“Unbelievable,” I say under my breath, before shoving the half-read letter to the bottom of my bag.

How  _dare_ she act like nothing has happened. Like she wasn’t giving me veiled threats just a few months ago about cutting me out of her life.

I look up and notice that I’m currently the recipient of a number of concerned looks. “It’s nothing,” I say. “My mother’s just being ridiculous.”

It’s a weak explanation at best, but it gets everyone to stop looking at me like they’re worried I’m about to cry. Which, really, they should know better by this point, because when have I ever actually cried in public?

James hums. “So you successfully called her bluff.”

“I suppose I did,” is my response, and luckily, James doesn’t try to push the subject any more.

“So there’s a party happening tonight, right?” Simon asks.

“Yep,” James answers. “But it’s just us lot, because Abby would’ve freaked on me if I tried to plan anything bigger. Room of Requirement at 8, and there’s plenty of alcohol to go around.”

“James, you do realize we have class tomorrow, right?” Molly says, frowning.

“Your point?”

Fred reaches across the table and gives him a high five.

Molly rolls her eyes at the two of them, but doesn’t put up much more of a fight than that.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the day passes by in a blur of studying – unfortunately, a spring birthday has always meant that I’ve spent at least part of the day studying for exams. And because it’s N.E.W.T. season, I’m studying even more now.

As a result, I’m more than ready to drink by the time that 8:00 rolls around. I don’t bother dressing up all that much – given that it’s not a real party, after all. Although, given my consistent propensity to overdress, that just means I’m wearing what the average person would wear to a party.

Dom, Caroline, and I get to the Room of Requirement right on time. As Dom reaches for the door handle, I’m instantly greeted with the fear that maybe James decided to throw a big party anyways. He’s always over-the-top, so why would this be an exception?

But as the door swings open, I realize that my fear is completely unfounded.

Yes, James went a little over the top. But in the best way.

The whole room – which is much smaller than it usually is for normal parties – is covered in fairy lights, and there are a couple couches arranged in a circle in the middle of the room. On the table in the centre is a slightly-excessive amount of elf-made wine, accompanied by what I’d assume is the boys’ choice of liquor for the night.

The boys themselves are already lounging on the couches, plastic cups in hand.

“I’ve got to admit, James knows you well,” Caroline says, looking around the room.

“Of course I do,” comes James’ reply. “What kind of boyfriend would I be otherwise?”

“Blaise,” she quips back.

I snicker, because she’s not entirely wrong.

There’s a beat of awkward silence, but the moment is saved by the arrival of Molly and Amelie. And even though I gave Molly the option, it appears that Davies didn’t come with.

“Holy shit, this place looks so good!” Molly gushes, looking around.

“And now that everyone’s here,” James grins, “we can finally start drinking.”

Dom gives him an exasperated look. “You do realize you lot are  _already_ drinking, right?”

“I just mean we can start  _this_ ,” he replies, reaching under the table and pulling out the infamous arcade drinking game.

Dom rolls her eyes, before taking the seat next to Alec and resting her hand on his knee. Despite the fighting that I know is happening between them, they’re somehow acting fine in front of people. I’m not sure what that’s about.

I end up on a couch between James and Molly, and somehow, James already has drinks poured for the both of us.

“So, the way this works, apparently,” he explains, “is you pull out a block, and you have to do whatever the block says. But if you knock the whole thing over, you lose.”

“And what’s the punishment for losing?” Molly asks.

“You finish whatever’s left in your cup.”

Molly sighs. “I’m going to regret this so much in Defense tomorrow morning.”

“For the love of Merlin, stop being so responsible, and enjoy the damn game,” Fred says, laughing.

James draws first, and whatever was written on the tile somehow results in him losing his shirt. As I lean back into his chest, I can’t say I’m disappointed with that result.

The game continues in much of the same manner – Fred draws a tile that requires all the girls to drink, Louis can only make animal noises for the rest of the game, Amelie and Simon end up  sitting back to back, Dom makes everyone else drink for an exorbitant amount  of time, and Molly gets some sort of obscure Muggle reference that none of us understand.

On my turn, I grab for a tile and – luckily – don’t know anything over, even though the whole structure is looking highly precarious at this point.

“ ‘Kiss the hottest person in the room,’ ” I read aloud. “So, er, that would be… Dom?”

James squawks in indignation, which has the effect of sending me into a fit of giggles.

When I recover, he’s pouting at me. “Fine, I guess you’re good enough,” I concede, and quickly kiss him before he has a chance to act affronted a second time.

And it’s probably due to the fact that I’m already a little buzzed, but the kiss goes straight to my head. My free hand curls into the fabric of James’ shirt, nearly pulling him on top of me as the kiss intensifies.

Someone clears their throat, and James and I jump apart. “Whoops,” I mutter, trying to sound at least the tiniest bit guilty for what just happened.

“I vote we take that tile out for future games so that no one has to be subjected to that very public display of affection ever again,” Alec announces.

“Right,” comes James’ sarcastic response. “Because you’re one to talk.”

That sets off a round of laughter, and completely dissipates any residual tension in the room.

The game continues, until Caroline pulls a tile and the whole thing comes tumbling down. She looks at the rubble, and proceeds to down her whole drink in a matter of seconds.

“I’m so proud to call you my girlfriend,” Freddy says, grinning at Caroline.

“You lot are all  _nauseating_!” Amelie cries, before taking a large sip of wine.

 

* * *

 

The game continues for a few more rounds, but in the middle of the fourth (or fifth?), James suddenly stands up, and offers his hand to me. I take it, because – rather predictably – my wine consumption has made me a bit unsteady on my feet.

“We’ll be back in a few,” James announces.

And after a beat of silence, “You lot need to get your minds out of the gutter, I’m just giving Abby her birthday gift.”

When no one’s expressions change, James gives up. “ _Not that kind of birthday gift_.”

I’m still giggling at this when we leave the Room of Requirement and walk down the hall. Under one of the lanterns, James turns to face me, looking the tiniest bit nervous as he reaches into his pocket.

When he pulls his hand back out, he’s holding a small box.

“Happy birthday, Abby.”

I take the box from his hand and open it. Inside sits a ring shaped like a tiara, dotted with small stones that sparkle in the faint light of the corridor. There’s a small card inside as well, which reads:

 

_You may not be Queen Bee anymore, but you’ll always be like royalty to me._

 

“I figured it was kind of symbolic, you know?” James comments. “Along with being, like, really fucking cheesy.”

I feel tears prick at the back of my eyes – I blame the wine for making me more sentimental than usual – as I look up at James. “It is a little cheesy. But it’s perfect.”

“I hope it fits right,” he adds, reaching up to toy with his hair. “Ring sizes are confusing as hell – I mean, why are they letters of the alphabet? What does M or N have to do with anything?”

I laugh, and test the ring on a few of my fingers. It slides onto my middle finger perfectly.

“You guessed well,” I tell him.

“So do you like it?”

I admire the crown sitting on my finger, a physical reminder of everything that’s happened this year and how much has changed in my life since then.

“I love it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneak peek of chapter 46…
> 
> “You’re… wearing my jersey,” he says.
> 
> “What?” I say, looking over at him and blinking innocently. “I can’t support my totally platonic friend by wearing his jersey?”
> 
> I watch James’ eyes as they slowly travel up and down my body. “I really want to kiss you right now.”
> 
> Fred coughs. “Please don’t, the rest of us are trying to eat breakfast.”


	46. Complication #46

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the moment, the consequences never seem all that bad.

The night before the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff match brings an important announcement.

“Well, Michael and I broke up,” Molly says, as soon as she sits down next to me at dinner.

The boys – minus James, who, thanks to me, kind of knew this was coming – all look at her, stunned.

Simon sets his fork down. “Where the hell did that come from?”

“What happened to waiting until you weren’t both Heads?” Amelie asks.

“I realized that wasn’t fair… to either of us, really,” Molly says, answering Amelie. “I felt guilty, because I felt like I was leading him on, staying together with him like that when I knew I didn’t want to be with him anymore.”

“That’s fair enough.”

“You can join the club of awkwardly avoiding eye contact with your ex every time you’re both in the Ravenclaw Common Room,” I tell her brightly. “That brings our total membership up to two.”

“Or, we can all start studying in the Hufflepuff Common Room instead,” she replies. “We’re closer to the kitchens there too.”

“A valid point,” I concede.

“Speaking of which, can we do Defense revision tonight?”

“Molly, it’s a Friday,” Dom whines.

“Yeah, sounds good,” I say to Molly, and Dom gives me an affronted look.

“What’s the point of a weekend if we’re  _still_ spending all our time revising?”

Molly raises an eyebrow at Dom. “Do I need to remind you that there’s a Quidditch match tomorrow, and an inevitable after-party? We’re going to have plenty of time to enjoy the weekend.”

 “Fine,” Dom sighs. “We revise tonight, and we drink tomorrow.”

“Hear, hear,” I reply, holding my pumpkin juice up in an imaginary toast.

After we finish eating, I head up to Ravenclaw Tower to grab a book before meeting the girls in the Hufflepuff Common Room. To my surprise, James falls in step with me.

“You’re going to spend your Friday night revising too?” I ask, giving him a skeptical look.

“Merlin, no,” he replies, looking repulsed by the mere suggestion. “I just wanna get your thoughts on something.”

“And that is?”

He takes a deep breath. “I think we should stop keeping this thing a secret.”

I look at him, eyebrows raised. “Really? And what prompted that?”

Setting up a timeline for telling the rest of the world isn’t something we’ve approached yet.

James shrugs, sticking his hands in his pockets. “I've just been thinking about it, ever since our conversation last week. People are going to talk shit about us either way, so like, what’s the point?”

It’s basically the same thing Amelie said. The whole point of staying secretive was to protect ourselves from dealing with the gossip and drama while also trying to sort out a brand-new relationship.

And that goal… hasn’t really worked. There’s still nasty rumours and petty comments, and there’s not even a tiny bit of proof behind them.

“Okay, let’s do it.”

James looks a little surprised by that. “Really? I thought you were going to put up more of a fight than that.”

“Might I remind you,” I tell him, rolling my eyes, “that not telling anyone was  _your_ idea originally? I mean, the justification made sense, but I was never opposed to the idea of telling people to begin with.”

“Okay then, we’re doing it,” James replies, then breaks into a grin. “I get to call you my girlfriend now.”

“You’ve been calling me your girlfriend for almost a month now,” I say, nudging with my elbow.

“Yeah, but this is different. I get to tell  _everyone_.”

I instantly have a mildly-horrific mental image of James making some grand announcement in the middle of the Great Hall, à la Fred Weasley.

“ _Or_ , we can just let people figure it out naturally,” I say, hoping to discourage anything overly dramatic. “Just, like, ease into it.”

“Well, yeah,” James responds, as if that’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m not about to show up at breakfast and stand on a table like Freddy did.”

I look at him skeptically. “You’re not?”

He laughs. “I think we’ve already established that grand gestures aren’t really my thing. I tried that once, and it ended in me panicking the entire time and just showing up at your bedroom door at the end of it.”

I can’t help but giggle – he has a point.

“To your credit though,” I reply, “it still worked. But yes, let’s avoid any dramatic gestures in the Great Hall.”

“So… subtle. We can do subtle.”

 

* * *

 

The next morning, I find myself digging through my trunk, in pursuit of a very specific article of clothing.

If James and I are officially letting our relationship be public knowledge, then I’m taking full advantage of my one and only opportunity to embrace the Quidditch-girlfriend stereotype and show up to the match in his jersey.

It’ll make people talk, but I imagine that James’ reaction will make it more than worth it. It is also, perhaps, not all that subtle, but it’s still a far cry from anyone climbing on a table.

I tuck the jersey into a short black skirt, and pull my hair up into a ponytail so that the word ‘Potter’ is clearly visible on the back.

“What happened to ‘I’m keeping my relationship a secret’?” Caroline asks, pausing in the middle of her attempt to do Gryffindor-coloured eye makeup. “Because wearing James’ jersey won’t exactly help hide anything.”

I start doing my own makeup. “We decided last night that we’re done with keeping it a secret.”

“Yay!” Dom squeals, popping her head out of the bathroom. “I’ve been waiting for this to happen!”

I have to admit, I’m kind of impressed that Dom heard that from across the room.

“Somehow I think Dom may be even more excited about this than you are, Abby,” Caroline laughs.

Dom shrugs. “My own love life is a mess right now – I need  _something_ happy to think about.”

She goes back into the bathroom before either Caroline or I have a chance to comment on the weirdness of that statement. Although, I don’t even know what I’d say to that anyways.

By the time we head down to breakfast, I’ve almost forgotten about my outfit choice. I sit down in the spot next to James, waiting for him to notice.

“Good morning,” I say to the group, reaching to grab the pitcher of coffee.

I hear something clatter to the floor, and I realize that it’s James’ spoon. I can only assume he’s just noticed what I’m wearing.

“You’re… wearing my jersey,” he says.

“What?” I say, looking over at him and blinking innocently. “I can’t support my  _totally_   _platonic_  friend by wearing his jersey?”

I watch James’ eyes as they slowly travel up and down my body, feeling my cheeks burn as a result. “I really want to kiss you right now.”

Fred coughs. “Please don’t, the rest of us are trying to eat breakfast.”

I give him a skeptical look. “Freddy, need I remind you that you literally  _stood on a table_ during dinner a few months ago? If we want to talk about ruining a meal, you almost stepping in the potatoes definitely qualifies more than a little PDA.”

Freddy dismisses my comment with a wave of his hand. “Yeah, whatever. Does this mean you two are finally done with this whole secret-keeping rubbish?”

“Yeah, in a way,” James answers. “We’re letting people figure it out on their own.”

“So no dramatic table announcement?”

“No,” James and I both say, almost simultaneously.

“But those are  _fun_ ,” Fred whines.

“And you already got yours,” James points out.

Freddy grins. “I sure did.”

With that, he leans over and plants a disgustingly loud kiss on Caroline’s cheek.

I wonder if he’s even remotely aware of the hypocrisy of that, given his repulsed reaction to James and I’s flirting not five minutes ago.

If I were putting Galleons on it, I’d go with probably not.

We're not the most self-aware group.

 

* * *

 

 

I hear the first snippets of rumours when we sit down in the Quidditch stands. When you’re all packed that closely together, it’s a bit hard  _not_ to overhear other people’s conversations.

I watch one of the younger Ravenclaws nudge her friend and incline her head in my direction – if they think they’re being surreptitious about it, they’re doing an awful job.

Eventually, someone actually taps me on the shoulder. I turn around, and end up face-to-face with Delaney Greengrass, one of the sixth years. I give her an expectant look, the sarcastic ‘can I help you’ all but falling from my lips.

“How’d you get that shirt?”

Well, at least she didn’t mince words.

In that case, I suppose I won’t either. “I got it from James,” I answer simply.

The girl’s eyebrows crinkle. “Really?”

“Yes, for fuck’s sake,” Dom sighs exasperatedly, spinning around and joining the conversation. “What kind of answer were you expecting? That she snuck up into the boys’ dorm and stole it out of his trunk in the middle of the night?”

Delaney has no response to that, and just blinks in surprise at Dom.

Dom turns back around to face the Quidditch pitch, and I follow suit. There’s really nothing else I need to add to the conversation at this point – thank Merlin for Dom, honestly.

The Hufflepuff team is announced and goes flying out onto the pitch, followed by Gryffindor. Most of Ravenclaw is pretty neutral on this particular match – it’d have to be a complete shut-out on Hufflepuff’s end for Ravenclaw to win the Cup, and that’s pretty unlikely – but Dom, Caroline, and I take it upon ourselves to have enough spirit for all of our house.

Freddy pauses mid-air to send finger guns in Caroline’s direction; surprisingly, she doesn’t even roll her eyes at that. I guess she’s gotten to the point where none of his antics are any sort of surprise anymore.

I watch as James shakes hands with the Hufflepuff captain, before taking his spot in the air. Even from here, it’s obvious that he’s just a bit more tense than he usually is during matches – although that’s probably because this is his last one and it has such major significance for the note that his Quidditch career ends on.

His worry is completely unfounded, though. From the moment the Quaffle is released, it’s clear that Gryffindor is the better team – and according to James, the whole team is hungry for a Quidditch Cup win, because it’s been ‘so damn long since they won one.’

By the time Al starts chasing down the Snitch, Hufflepuff has scored on James only one time – meaning that, when Al triumphantly holds up that little golden ball, the final score is 230-10.

The Gryffindor stands are, predictably, going completely mad. The team lands on the pitch, echoing a chorus of whoops and hollers. The three chasers, seemingly out of nowhere, have their wands out and completely drench James in water, which seems like a very strange victory ritual to me.

But James is grinning like he’s just won a million Galleons as he shakes the excess water out of his hair, before grabbing the Quidditch Cup and hoisting it over his head.

“Time to crash the victory party?” Dom asks.

“Obviously,” comes Caroline’s response.

After the mass of Gryffindors starts heading up towards the castle, we walk up as well, finding Molly and Amelie along the way, who look a little bummed by their House’s performance but not altogether surprised by it.

When we get up to Gryffindor Tower, the Fat Lady doesn’t even bother asking us for the password; she’s obviously experienced such a flood of students that she’s over it by now, so the portrait just swings open as soon as we walk up.

James is easy to find in the Gryffindor common room, despite the fact that it’s flooded with people. Probably because he’s the centre of attention, and having the absolute time of his life with that fact.

My feet move towards him of their own accord; I push my way through the crowd of people, singularly focused on getting to him and congratulating him on the win.

“James!”

He whirls towards me just before I throw my arms around his neck. He wraps his arms around my waist in return, and suddenly he’s picking me up and spinning me around in a circle.

When he sets me back down, I’m fully prepared to make some sort of comment about how well he played, but instead, there’s a familiar look in his eyes and I almost know what’s going to happen before it does.

In an instant, he’s kissing me so hard it makes my head spin. One of his hands leaves my waist and buries itself in my hair, and my body instinctively reacts to his touch as I tighten my grip around his neck.

We’re in the middle of a crowded Gryffindor common room. And somehow, I don’t care.

When we separate, I’m suddenly aware of the fact that the party is significantly quieter than before. I don’t look anywhere but at James, but I’m willing to bet this little stunt garnered the attention of a significant portion of the Common Room.

“Subtle,” I tell him, still sounding a bit out-of-breath.

James laughs softly. “Well, the secret’s out now, I guess.”

And really, I’m sure this was probably one of the worst ways to go about this announcement, but right now, I couldn’t care less. Right now, this feeling – this pure and total elation – is entirely worth the consequences.

But of course, the moment can’t last forever, and we’re very loudly interrupted by none other than dear Freddy.

“Wow! This is definitely the first time they’ve kissed! I, for one, am so surprised this is happening!”

I look in the direction of Fred’s voice to see Caroline swatting him for that, which saves me from having to go over and do it myself.

Tearing my eyes from James also has the unintended consequence of revealing to me just how many sets of eyes are zeroed in on James and I’s current position.

I turn back to James. “I think this entire common room is staring at us,” I say softly.

“Well, I know one way to get them to stop,” he comments mildly.

“And that is?”

There’s a mischievous glint in his eye. “Make them so uncomfortable they have no choice but to look away.”

Before I have the chance to ask what he means by that, his lips are on mine, kissing me for the second time – this time in a way that is definitely, one-hundred percent, completely inappropriate for public company, especially given the fact that there are most likely some first years in the room.

But because something about James makes me completely lose any sense of self-restraint, I kiss him back in the exact same way.

I can’t  _wait_ to see what the rumour mill makes of this.

When we pull apart, I discover that James’ theory was, in fact, correct. Everyone is distinctly avoiding looking in our direction, save a few slack-jawed second years.

I grin at him. “Now that we’ve made a colossal scene in front of your entire House, I think I need a drink. Want me to grab you anything?”

James considers it. “Er, yeah, I’ll just have a butterbeer.”

“Wow, that’s tame for you,” I tease.

He shrugs. “This is my last Quidditch victory party. I want to enjoy it properly, and that involves  _not_ getting embarrassingly drunk before the sun even sets.”

“How sentimental,” I say, affectionately patting him on the cheek before I head towards the makeshift bar.

I’d have to be stupidly naïve to not expect an immediate questioning as soon as I leave James’ side, and that’s exactly what I get. As I walk up to the bar, I’m approached by a fifth-year girl whose face I recognize but whose name completely eludes me.

“Well that was unexpected,” she comments, obviously trying a bit too hard to sound casual.

I shrug, grabbing two butterbeers. “Not really.”

The girl raises an eyebrow at me. “You’re telling me you knew that was going to happen?”

I can’t quite figure out how to respond to that.

“It’d be a bit unexpected if James  _didn’t_ have his hands all over his girlfriend, really,” Dom says, seemingly appearing out of nowhere.

The number of times Dom Weasley has saved me today, I swear.

She quickly grabs a drink for herself and drags me with her over to the couches, leaving behind a very stunned-looking… Margaret? Marjorie? Something like that.

James has already claimed a spot on one of the cramped couches, and when I present him with his butterbeer, he responds by unceremoniously pulling me onto his lap – and almost causing me to spill my drink all over him in the process.

“Oh Godric, are you two going to be this affectionate in public all the time now that the secret’s out?” Simon asks.

He’s one to talk – Louis’ hand is currently resting very high on his inner thigh.

Hypocrites, the whole lot of us.

“Just let us have this one night,” James replies easily. “I’m making up for years of watching you lot snog at least half of Hogwarts’ student population.”

“Oi, that was just Alec and Freddy – I was  _not_ a part of that,” Simon argues.

“Fair enough,” James concedes. “Still, let me have this.”

He plants a gentle kiss on my shoulder, just above where his last name is scrawled across my shirt.

Somehow, it’s that small gesture that makes everything click into place. It’s no earth-shattering revelation – it never is with James, really – but more like that incredibly satisfying last piece of a puzzle snapping into its spot.

It’s a sudden simultaneous rush of affection and lust that makes me want nothing more than to drag James out of this room, to take him somewhere where I can do  _exactly_ what I want to do with him.

But his comment from earlier holds me back. This is his last Quidditch victory party, and he deserves to fully enjoy the whole thing – I’m not going to take that from him.

So I wait, doing my best to stay fully present in the party and the conversation and the next few butterbeers, until the commotion in the Common Room starts to dwindle. The younger years are going to bed, and most of the older years are getting a little too drunk to function properly.

I lean in to whisper in James’ ear. “Want to get out of here?”

He looks at me, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “I was hoping you’d ask that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOL, so the original plan was for this story to be 47 chapters, but then this chapter ended up massive and I had to split it into two. So now we’ve got 48 chapters – just two more to go! One chapter still set in their seventh year, and one epilogue (that’ll set the stage for the sequel, eek).
> 
>  
> 
> Sneak peek of chapter 47…
> 
> “You’re walking like a woman on a mission,” James comments, after having to speed up to catch up with me.
> 
> “Maybe I am,” I comment mildly.
> 
> “You do realize I could just snog you right here on the staircase?” James replies. “The whole school’s going to know by breakfast tomorrow anyways.”
> 
> “I have something a bit more specific in mind.”
> 
> He laughs under his breath at that, before grabbing my hand and interlacing his fingers with mine. “Alright then, lead the way.”


	47. Complication #47

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The right support system makes all the difference.

“Well, we’ll see you lot later,” I say to the group, although most of them are too involved in their own conversation bubbles to notice anyways.

It’s still before curfew – the perks of a noon Quidditch game, really – so there’s not any reason to be concerned about getting caught as James and I walk down the staircases.

“You’re walking like a woman on a mission,” James comments, after having to speed up to catch up with me.

“Maybe I am,” I comment mildly.

“You do realize I could just snog you right here on the staircase?” James replies. “The whole school’s going to know by breakfast tomorrow anyways.”

“I have something a bit more specific in mind.”

He laughs under his breath at that, before grabbing my hand and interlacing his fingers with mine. “Alright then, lead the way.”

And so I do, and James doesn’t question my navigation once, until we step out onto the grounds.

“Er, Abby? This seems a bit of an… unorthodox choice.”

“You know, that was my reaction as well,” I say, waiting for him to catch on. “When someone says ‘let’s get out of here’ at a party, a secret tunnel under the Whomping Willow isn’t usually my first thought.”

James stops walking all of a sudden, and when I turn back to look at him, he’s watching me with an unreadable expression.

I can’t help it – I smirk at him. “Oi, keep it moving. I’m going to need you to throw the rock; my aim’s not bad, but it’s definitely not  _that_ good.”

He blinks. “Are you suggesting… what I think you’re suggesting?”

“Depends,” I tease, closing the space between us. “What do you think I’m suggesting?”

I can see his pupils dilating in the faint light, black taking over hazel. “I, er, I don’t mean to be presumptuous, but I can’t help but think of what happened the  _last_ time we were in the Shrieking Shack.”

“Got it in one.”

I step back, ready to keep walking, but James stays frozen in place. I expected him to react a bit more to that, really.

After a moment of silence, he opens his mouth. “Are you sure?”

“This is literally all I’ve been thinking about all evening.”

James’ eyes go wide. “ _All evening_?” he splutters. “Why didn’t you say anything earlier? We could’ve left the party hours ago!”

This revelation somehow gets him moving again, and we start making our way to the Willow.

“I didn’t want to ruin your last victory party – you said you wanted to enjoy it properly,” I answer.

James looks over at me, his expression soft and full of something I can’t quite name. “You’re an absolutely fucking brilliant girlfriend, you know that?”

He pauses for a moment before adding, “But also, this would  _not_ have ruined the party, by any means.

I feel my cheeks heat up – I should  _not_ still be reduced to putty whenever James looks at me like that. And yet.

He picks up a stone, flinging it at the tree with practiced ease. It hits its mark – that one knot at the base – and the branches freeze in midair.

Climbing down a tunnel at the base of the Whomping Willow isn’t any less weird the second time, I discover. The tunnel is still cramped and dusty, and I’m almost positive that I’m going to end up tripping on something – and I’m not even drunk this time around.

We’re about halfway through when James pauses. Luckily, I notice that he’s stopped, and manage to not walk straight into him.

He spins around to look at me. “You know, this is where I kissed you.”

And there’s the answer to a question I’d completely forgotten about.

“You kissed me first?”

James’ eyebrows furrow. “I thought you said you remembered that whole night.”

“I do,” I reply. “Some of the details were just… a little fuzzy. Including that one. I just… one second we were both arguing about something, and the next, we were – well, we weren’t.”

He messes up his hair a little – I suddenly  _really_ want to be the one doing it instead – and smiles softly. “Well, now you know. You were just… right there, and looking really fucking hot, and I completely forgot that I wasn’t supposed to like you, and, well.”

It’s one of those statements that isn’t objectively all that romantic – ‘really fucking hot’ isn’t going to win him any poetry awards, that’s for sure – but something about the way he flushes when he says it sends another flood of affection through my bloodstream.

“It’s safe to say I never thought I’d be able to trace the origin of my relationship to a tunnel between an overly aggressive tree and a supposedly haunted shack,” I tell him, laughing.

“You mean to say that’s  _not_ how relationships are supposed to start? Damn, and here I thought I was going about things the conventional way.”

“Conventional is one thing I doubt we’ll ever be,” I respond. “But let’s please get through the rest of the tunnel before I jump your bones right here.”

James responds with an incredibly mischievous look. “What would be so bad about that?”

I return his look with a glare. “It’s a dirt tunnel, James.”

“Your point?” When I continue glaring at him, he rolls his eyes, grinning. “Have it your way, then.”

But as soon as we make it out of the tunnel, James wastes absolutely no time in pulling me towards him, bringing his lips down to meet mine. His hands run over my body, clearly trying to find purchase on something he can pull off. He finally manages to get my shirt untucked, and makes quick work of taking it off of me.

As soon as it’s off, his lips find their way to my neck. “I’ve realized something I like even more than you in my jersey,” he says against my skin.

I’m a little preoccupied trying to get his own shirt off. “Hm?”

“Taking it off of you.”

I open my mouth to tell him he’s ridiculous, but James also chooses that exact moment to push my bra straps off my shoulders and kiss that one spot on my neck that he  _knows_  drives me mad, so the result is something more akin to a gasp.

And dammit, I still can’t get his stupid shirt off.

I think James senses my struggle, because he steps back and takes it off himself. Then he grabs my hand and pulls me with him into the bedroom, and it’s a miracle that we don’t end up on the floor in the clumsy shuffle of feet that occurs.

His trousers and my skirt quickly join the other articles of clothing on the floor, and I’m tumbling onto the bed, pulling him down with me.

His mouth connects with the bare skin on my stomach, as he intersperses kisses with murmured ‘I love you’s, his hot breath tickling my skin and giving me goosebumps as he works his way lower and lower on my body.

For what is definitely not the first time tonight, I’m hit with a complete tidal wave of emotion. Everything has changed so much since the last time we were here, since the last time we shared this bed. And I’m so over-the-moon, earth-shatteringly happy about all of it.

And I can’t help but think to myself that the second time is  _definitely_ the charm.

 

* * *

 

As a result of sleeping in the Shrieking Shack (and, er, not getting out of bed for a while after waking up), James and I are both very late to Sunday breakfast – me even more so, because it takes me a while to get ready after I get back to Ravenclaw Tower.

On my way to the Great Hall, I hear hurried footsteps behind me – and suddenly Amy Singh is walking in step with me.

“Hi Abby!” she says, a bit too cheerfully.

“Er, hi,” I respond, a bit skeptical of what’s coming. There’s always something coming.

“Is it true that James is a bad kisser?”

And there it is.

But also, her question brings up a wave of relief.  _Finally,_ there’s a dumb rumour about James instead of me. Thank Merlin.

I guess I should stick up for him nonetheless.

“Definitely false,” I say, unable to stifle the laugh that comes along with it.

“Does he actually have a tattoo of Quidditch hoops on his thigh?”

I…  _what?_

“Nah, but he does have the score from the 2020 Quidditch Cup tattooed on his arse,” I answer. “He’s gonna get the score from yesterday’s match next to it.”

It’s such a ridiculous sentence that I’m positive she’ll know I’m joking, but from the rapturous look on Amy’s face, she doesn’t pick up on the sarcasm.

James is going to murder me for this.

“As lovely as this conversation has been,” I tell Amy as we walk into the Great Hall, “I’ve got to go catch up with my friends.”

I walk away from her as fast as I possibly can.

As I sit down at the Gryffindor table, I look James square in the eye. “If anyone asks you about Quidditch scores being tattooed on your arse, just go with it.”

His eyes go wide. “What the fuck?”

“I may have sarcastically told Amy Singh that you’ve got the 2020 Cup score on your arse, and she may have failed to pick up on that sarcasm.”

James sighs, while everyone else at the table busts out laughing. “Dammit, Abby.”

“Oh, but I have even better news for you two!” Dom says brightly, clapping her hands together. “James, you’re under the influence of a love potion, and Abby, you’re only with James for his money. You’re also both only faking a relationship to get back at Blaise, but I don’t really know how that one’s supposed to fit in with the previous two.”

I bring a hand to my temple. “Why is a completely normal, no-ulterior-motives relationship so hard for people to understand?”

“Because your drama has been the talk of Hogwarts for the whole school year,” Dom answers, a bit more serious this time. “And people are bored out of their minds from revising, so fabricating stories about you two is the only source of excitement anyone’s got lately.”

Caroline turns to join the conversation. “But seriously though, it’s appalling the number of people that seem to give entirely too many fucks about your relationship.”

“I wonder what  _Witch Weekly_ will say when they get wind that their ‘most eligible bachelor’ has lost his place on their rankings?” I muse.

Dom cackles. “Did you ever manage to get that article off your wall, James?”

“No,” James replies, glaring at Freddy. “ _Someone_  cast a Permanent Sticking Charm on it, and I can’t get the bloody thing off without ruining all the photos it’s stuck to.”

“Hm,” Fred comments. “Maybe I’ll undo the charm now – the whole thing’s entirely inaccurate now, anyways, which makes it way less funny.”

“Well, it’s not  _all_  wrong. I still  _am_  a Keeper, after all,” James says, looking over and winking at me.

I roll my eyes at him. “Technically a former Keeper as of last night.”

“Only in the Quidditch sense, love.”

If he weren’t sitting on the other side of the table, I’d probably reach over and smack him on the arm for that.

“Speaking of last night,” Freddy interrupts, grinning, “imagine our surprise when  _neither_ of you made it back to the dorms last night.”

“Yeah,” Caroline chimes in, “where’d you two get off to, anyways?”

“The Shrieking Shack,” James answers, sounding entirely too proud of that fact.

Simon snorts. “Well, that sure is full circle, isn’t it?”

James messes up the back of his hair, smirking. “And I have to say, it was even better the second time.”

This time, I actually do I reach across the table to smack him on the arm. “ _JAMES!_ ”

 

* * *

 

Stories continue to circulate the school for the next few days – it’s almost bizarre the sheer volume of ridiculous tales people manage to come up with.

There’s at least one theory that we’ve secretly been together since the beginning of the year. When someone actually plucks up the courage to ask James about that one, he starts laughing hysterically, saying something along the lines of ‘did you miss the part where I couldn’t stand her until October?’ when he finally catches his breath enough to reply.

Despite this, it seems that a good portion of the school actually managed to get the story right. Well, ‘right’ in the sense that they know James and I are actually dating, and that it’s only a relatively recent development.

No one knows the full extent of the story, and honestly, thank Merlin for that.  It’s almost too complicated to be believed, anyways.

I spent so long worrying about how this moment would turn out – and honestly, I’d probably prepared a little  _too_ much.

Because in the moment, it turns out I care way less than I expected I would.

It’s just yet another sign of how much has changed this year – when it’d been just me dealing with the aftermath of explosive Hogwarts drama, every judgmental look and whisper felt like it might break me.

And now… well, it’d be a lie to say there’s not some part of me that still shudders at being the subject of all these dumb rumours, but there’s something to be said for having the massive support network that is the Weasley/Potter family.

Especially Dom, who seems to be a bottomless barrel of sass-filled remarks whenever she overhears anything untrue.

But the real kicker – the best moment of them all – comes when I’m completely left to my own devices.

I’m alone in the dormitory, sitting on my bed and reading over old Potions notes, when Scarlett comes through the door, throwing her things on her bed before heading back out again.

She senses that I’m intentionally avoiding looking in her direction, I think, because before she turns the door handle, she speaks to me.

“Congrats on finally landing the bloke you ruined your reputation to chase after. I hope he was fucking worth it.”

I look up from my book to see Scarlett watching me, a condescending sneer etched across her perfect features.

I think about all the things that, in some way or another, came out of my mistake this fall – the new friends who’ve stuck with me through everything, the job offer in a field I love, a boyfriend who genuinely cares about me. The fact that Scarlett still thinks I’ve lost everything is… well, it’s just proof of how little she really knows.

“Yeah,” I answer, looking her straight in the eye. “He is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And… there we have it. The last (real) chapter of Complicated. NO, I AM NOT OK. But anyways, there’s an epilogue coming up next, and a full sequel after that, but like… y’all. I’m so grateful for every single person who’s read and/or reviewed this story. You’re rockstars.
> 
>  
> 
> Sneak peek of chapter 48…
> 
> “Looks like a lame ass proposal to me,” James scoffs, clearly reading the announcement himself.
> 
> James stops leaning on my chair, and I hear him open up the cabinet to grab a mug.
> 
> “When I propose, it’s going to be way better than that.”
> 
> I almost drop my scalding-hot coffee onto my lap. 
> 
> "When you... what?"


	48. Complication #48

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Forever may be closer than you think.

_August 2025 (two-ish years later):_

As sunlight streams through the curtains, I wake up to the familiar weight of an arm thrown across my waist.

I’ve come to realize this is James’ idea of a compromise between wanting to be close to me when he sleeps and wanting to sprawl out as much as humanly possible.

I gently lift his arm off of me and set it back down on the bed, careful not to wake him, so that I can get up. I throw on a dressing gown and slippers before heading downstairs.

The stairs themselves have turned into a giant photo gallery; when I lived in this place alone, the walls were bare, but James wanted a place to hang his whole collection of photographs. We compromised with my insistence that they all be in frames instead of Spellotaped to the wall, like they’d been in his previous flat.

I linger in front of some of my favourite shots. James and I wading into the ocean, he carrying me on his back as I lean forward and say something into his ear. The two of us squished between Dom and Freddy at the Leaky Cauldron, all four of us laughing about something I can’t remember. Last year’s New Years party, during which someone dared James to give me a lap dance and he took his role a little  _too_ seriously.

And then there’s James’ favourite: the cover of  _Witch Weekly_ from June of 2023. Admittedly, the picture is pretty good, although I don’t know  _who_ took and submitted a picture of James and I at the Gryffindor Quidditch party to the gossip magazine. It’s of the two of us right after he kissed me in the middle of the Common Room. The picture really only shows the back of my head – and the Potter jersey I’m wearing – but James’ face is clearly visible, wearing an expression that can only be appropriately described as lovestruck. The caption underneath:  _The Eldest Potter – Off the Market?_

The article itself was horrendous – I’m pretty sure there was even a poll where readers could vote on how long the relationship would last (and none of the options were over six months) – but the cover is still cute.

Lila, now a fully-grown cat, sees me on the staircase and immediately begins meowing insistently. I haven’t looked at a clock yet this morning, but her behaviour makes it evident that I’ve slept later than normal. She’s obviously rather displeased with the resulting delay in her breakfast.

After getting her a bowl of food, I start the process of brewing a pot of coffee, surveying the living room as I wait.

There’s still a pile of boxes in one corner – James only moved in about a month ago, and between both of us working full-time and all our various social commitments, we still haven’t properly finished unpacking all his stuff.

When James and I first decided that he was going to move in with me, I was secretly terrified that my perfectly decorated apartment was going to turn into a disaster. I’ve always had a simple, elegant decorating style, and James is… well,  _James_.

But surprisingly, most of our stuff works well together. His Gryffindor Quidditch banner actually looks really good hung between the minimalistic white shelving units along the back wall, and his wall of pictures actually looks impressively tasteful.

Perhaps it’s a bit of a metaphor for the two of us. Two people you might not expect to work well together, but somehow do.

I’m torn from my sentimental musings by a tapping on the window – I open it and take the copy of  _The Daily Prophet_ from the barn owl’s outstretched limb, grabbing a few knuts from the counter as payment.

When the coffee’s done, I pour myself a cup and cast a Warming Charm on what’s left – James is almost certainly going to want some when he eventually wakes up. My coffee habits have definitely rubbed off on him since he moved in.

I grab the paper and my coffee mug, and sit down at the kitchen table.

The Announcements section isn’t usually what I gravitate to, but something there catches my eye. I read it, and instinctively frown.

I’m so caught up in reading the blurb that I don’t notice James coming into the kitchen until he’s behind my chair, wrapping his arms around my shoulders and leaning in to read over my shoulder.

“What are you looking at?” he asks, scanning the paper. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Surely the new Muggle Studies teacher at Hogwarts hasn’t done anything  _that_ bad?”

I briefly look over at the article he’s joking about, before looking back at the Announcements.

“Blaise got engaged yesterday,” I say, my eyes once again glued on the picture of my ex-boyfriend with his now fiancé, a pretty blonde who’s positively glowing with happiness as she admires the massive diamond on her finger before flashing it at the camera.

“Oh.”

I don’t know why, but I can’t look away. I’m definitely a million times happier in my relationship with James than I ever was with Blaise, so it’s not that, but  _something_  keeps me watching the moving picture.

“Looks like a lame ass proposal to me,” James scoffs, clearly reading the announcement himself.

James stops leaning on my chair, and walks into the kitchen. I hear him open up the cabinet to grab a mug.

“When I propose, it’s going to be way better than that.”

I almost drop my scalding-hot coffee onto my lap.

“When you…  _what_?”

I finally tear my eyes away from the paper in favour of gaping at James, who’s currently pouring himself a cup of coffee and generally acting like he didn’t just say something  _majorly_  significant.

“When I propose,” he repeats.

James and I have never talked about marriage. I suppose I’ve always known it’s a possibility – we do live together, after all – but James has never even so much as hinted at any interest in that on his end.

“You’re proposing?”

James laughs, clearly entertained by my confusion. “Well, not right now, I’m not. But yeah, I imagine that’ll happen eventually.”

“I didn’t know that was something you were even thinking about,” I admit.

“I didn’t think it was a thing we needed to actually talk about. I figured we were on the same page,” he says, coming to sit down across from me at the small table. “I mean, you would want to get married, wouldn’t you?”

“Well, yes,” I reply. “But I figured you were kilometers off from that. I  _definitely_ didn’t think you were at the point of just casually throwing out the idea over breakfast!”

“Definitely not kilometers off,” James confirms. “Just waiting for the right moment, is all.”

I only blink in response.

Even to this day, James still manages to completely throw me for a loop sometimes.

He cocks his head at me, suddenly looking just as confused by my reaction as I feel about his. “Abby, I watched my little brother get married a few months ago. And my grandmum has told me on multiple occasions that she fully expects me to be next. If I was still completely unfamiliar with the prospect of us getting married, I’d honestly be a bit concerned for my self-awareness.”

I set my mug down on the table. “Right, because you’ve got  _such_  a stellar track record for self-awareness.”

James cracks a grin again. “I’d like to think I’ve gotten at least a little better since seventh year.”

And he’s probably right about that. We’ve come a long way since then, since avoiding our feelings until they’d almost literally smacked us in the face.

“I guess you have,” I reply.

We sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes, until James nudges my calf with his foot. When I look up at him, he’s giving me an incredibly cheeky smirk.

“You’re gonna be stuck with me for the rest of your life,” he says.

I roll my eyes at him, but somehow, I don’t think I mind that concept all that much.

 

* * *

 

“Dammit Abby, we’re going to be late,” James whines, sitting at the foot of the bed and watching me apply my makeup in the mirror.

“Oh please,” I answer, still putting on my eyeliner, “like anyone in your family is  _actually_ on time for family functions anyways.”

“They’re more on time than you,” he retorts.

I respond by childishly sticking my tongue out at him.

He laughs at that. “But seriously, I want to see what random bloke Dom brings along this time.”

Dom has, for better or for worse, been going through guys like flavours of the week since Alec left for Greece after graduation. Some of them – particularly the ones she’s brought to weddings – have been some very strange blokes.

“I don’t think she’ll bring a date to this one – I feel like a baby shower has a distinctly different vibe than a wedding.”

James clicks his tongue. “So I take it that also means we’re  _not_ carrying our wedding tradition over to baby showers?”

I know exactly what he means by that. Between Teddy and Victoire’s and Al and Cecile’s weddings, I think we’ve accidentally created a regular habit.

I pause to glare at him. “ _No_ ,” I say sternly. “Sneaking off to have sex in the middle of a baby shower has a very different connotation than doing that at a wedding. And I’ve only just learned that you’re thinking about getting engaged–  _please_ don't tell me you’re also ready to have kids.”

James shudders. “Fuck no.”

“Well then. There’s your answer.”

He stands up and walks over to where I’m standing, wrapping his arms around my waist and generally throwing off my ability to apply my liquid lipstick evenly. “We could just… right now,” he says.

“Weren’t you just complaining two minutes ago about how we were going to be late? Because that would  _definitely_ make us late,” I explain, screwing the lid back onto the tube of bright red lipstick.

He lets his arms fall back to his sides. “Ugh, I guess you’re right.”

“I usually am,” I say as I spin around to look at him.

This time, it’s his turn to roll his eyes at me.

But I  _am_  right about this, so we’re Flooing to the Burrow just a few minutes later. I go first, and James follows a few moments later, holding a box with a massive pink bow against his hip.

“Mum! Abby and James are here!” Lily calls out, as soon as we find ourselves in the Burrow’s living room.

Ginny comes hurrying into the room, immediately engulfing me a hug.

“Damn, I’m only your firstborn child,” James jokes.

“Oh, don’t give me that,” Ginny replies, before pulling him into a hug as well. “How are things going? I haven’t seen you two since… well, since we helped move all of James’ stuff into your place, Abby.”

James grins conspiratorially at me, and I’m almost positive he’s thinking about something he shouldn’t be thinking about when talking to his mother. “Things are going great,” he says.

I attempt to redirect the conversation before James’ mum has enough time to catch on to her son’s implied meaning. “We  _still_ haven’t finished unpacking, but I imagine we’ll get there eventually.”

Ginny laughs. “I can’t say I blame you,” she responds. “From what I’ve heard from Harry and Albus, the Auror department is an awfully busy place these days.”

I start to reply, but before I can, we’re interrupted by another voice entering the room.

“James! Abby! You guys made it!”

Teddy’s hair is bright pink for the occasion, almost perfectly matching the neon-coloured sash Victoire’s wearing over her  white dress. Even at eight months pregnant in the middle of summer, she still manages to look completely flawless.

“Of course we did,” James replies, grinning and hugging the two of them in turn.

“ _Abby’s here!?_ ”

Almost immediately, a flash of silvery blonde hair streaks across the room and I’m practically tackled in a hug.

“I’ve missed you so much,” Dom cries dramatically. “My practice schedule has been fucking  _insane_ – I haven’t left bloody Wimbourne in weeks.”

“Dom!” Victoire says, sounding scandalised. “At least wait until the baby is  _born_ before you start corrupting it with your foul language!”

“Please,” Dom responds. “That baby has Teddy for a father – she’s going to have a foul mouth from birth.”

“Fuck you, Dom,” Teddy says jovially. Dom raises her eyebrows at her sister, her point now proven.

Victoire’s hands go to her temples. “This poor child. She’s going to grow up with the mouth of a sailor.”

Teddy throws an arm around his wife. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Her retort is muffled by the sound of the fireplace roaring to life again, and Freddy comes tumbling out of the green flames.

Out of habit, I watch the fireplace, expecting Caroline to come through afterwards. It’s ridiculous that I still catch myself thinking that – Caroline’s on a totally different continent, and she’s been there for almost a year, so I really don’t know why I still expect her and Freddy to be together.

Other than the fact that they were perfect for each other, that is.

But Caroline’s job in the Department of International Magical Cooperation had transferred her to the States, and so she chose to follow her career. She and Freddy had tried long-distance, but it apparently turned out to be much harder than either of them anticipated – and they called it off after a few months.

Freddy, the poor bloke, hasn’t really been the same since. He hasn’t so much as looked at another girl since they broke up – and that, given his track record with women before they got together, is just proof that he’s still not over her.

I’m just hoping, for both their sakes, that Caroline gets transferred back to the UK eventually.

“Don’t worry, dear family, I’ve arrived, so the party can officially start now,” Fred grins, taking a bow. He hands a poorly wrapped gift to Teddy, who eyes it warily.

That’s probably smart thinking on Teddy’s part – I get the feeling Freddy probably decided to give his expecting cousin one of his new Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes inventions.

A bunch of Teddy and Victoire’s Hogwarts friends arrive next, and soon enough, the Burrow is positively bustling with activity as everyone plays the baby-themed games that Ginny came up with.

“I still maintain that you should find a way to name the baby after me,” James protests, from his spot on the floor, leaning against my legs. Given the sheer number of people in the Potter-Weasley family, a significant portion of them have been relegated to sitting on the floor – James included.

“You’re already the godfather,” Victoire replies. “That’s more than enough influence than you should be allowed to have over one child.”

“See, this is why you should name it Frederica.”

Victoire drops her head into her hands. “We are  _not_ naming our daughter Frederica, Freddy.”

I honestly don’t know why the two of them expected literally any other outcome to this game.

“Well,  _someone_ in this family ought to name a kid after me,” Fred argues, taking a sip of champagne.

I also don’t know what convinced Victoire that allowing alcohol to be served at this thing was a good idea.

“I could be persuaded,” James replies, “for a price, that is.”

Freddy looks intrigued by this proposition. “And that price is?”

I put a hand over James’ mouth before he has a chance to answer. “You are not  _auctioning off_  the naming rights to your future children. Especially not if you’re planning on having them with me.”

Freddy’s face lights up. “You two are having kids?”

“Not anytime soon, that’s for sure,” I reply immediately, and, almost as if to prove my point, James chooses that moment to lick the hand covering his mouth.

“Eugh,” I say, wiping his saliva off on his shirt, “you’re disgusting.”

“You love me,” James taunts.

“I have to go with Victoire on this one,” I say. “Being anyone’s godfather is the most influence James should be allowed to have on a child at this point in his life.”

I look back up at Teddy and Victoire. “Oh, and for the record, my vote is on Margeaux Nymphadora.”

“Margeaux eez such a pretty name,” Victoire’s mum confirms.

“Yeah, we like that one too,” Teddy responds, grinning.

That seems to be the end of that game – once the parents announce the name they like, there’s not much of a point continuing with suggestions anyways.

“So,” Dom says, a few minutes later, nudging me in the side, “kids?”

“We’ve got quite a while to wait on that one,” I reply. “I’d like to think we’ll at least be married first.”

“And as we learned this morning,” James chimes in, “Abby goes mildly catatonic when proposals are brought up.”

“That is  _not_ what happened, you prat,” I say, flicking him on the top of his head.

Dom laughs at that. “If I had to pick which one of you was going to freak out about the concept of a proposal, my Galleons would be on James.”

I nudge James with my knee. “See?”

He cranes his head back to look at me. “In that case, looks like I’m going to be planning the most dramatic proposal ever to prove all of you skeptical fuckers wrong.”

 

* * *

 

Four months later, he makes good on that promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three guesses on what this means for where the sequel starts off.
> 
>  
> 
> JK, it’ll take exactly one guess, so here’s a sneak peek of Complex chapter 1:
> 
> “Abby, show us that rock!”
> 
> “Witch Weekly readers are positively dying to know proposal details!”
> 
> “Is it true that James only proposed because he knocked you up?”
> 
> I swear to Merlin, if I had a Galleon for every time a reporter accused me of being pregnant, I'd never have to lay a finger on my trust fund.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/shadowrose_hpft) and [tumblr](http://legally-gryffindor.tumblr.com/)


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